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I 



SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES 


{ 


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STILL ANOTHER PEEP THROUGH THE LILAC BUSHES. 

{^Froniispiece* See page 33 




spinning - Wheel 
Stories 


By 

LOUISA M. ALCOTT 

> > 

Author op “Silver Pitchers,” “Proverb Stories,” “A Garland 
FOR Girls,” “Little Women,” “An Old-Fashioned 
Girl,” “ Work, a Story of Experience,” 

“ Moods, a Novel,” Etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

WILLIAM A. McCullough 



BOSTON 

Little, Brown, and Company 

1908 


U3HARY of CONGK&SS)! 
I wo (iooies Hecewftg 

SEP 111 wa 

Se^.U tf^o« 

CU\Sfe»CX_ AAc. rtv. 

X. I 6 T I s 

COPY a. 


Copyright^ 1884, 

By Louisa M. Alcott. 

Copyright, igo8, 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 


All rights reserved 



S. J. Pabkhill ti Co., Bostoh, U. S. A. 


CONTENTS 


PAGB 

Grandma’s Story i 

Tabby’s Table-Cloth 27 

Eli’s Education 51 

Onawandah 77 

Little Things 99 

The Banner of Beaumanoir 125 

Jerseys; or, The Girls’ Ghost . . . .149 

The Little House in the Garden . . .179 

Daisy’s Jewel - Box, and How She Filled It . 207 

Corny’s Catamount 231 

The Cooking - Class . 257 

The Hare and the Tortoise 281 


t 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Still another peep through the lilac 

BUSHES 

“ The buttery door opened, and there 

STOOD the robber 

Till dawn they hurried on . 

Hour after hour she worked, slowly 

AND CAREFULLY 

He boldly began the dangerous descent 
“There she is now! Girls, she’s 

running 1 ” 

To KEEP HER AT HOME SHE WAS SET TO 
FARMING 

“ Caught in a tree, by Jupiter ” 


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SPINNING-WHEEL 

STORIES 


GRANDMA’S STORY 

" T T is too bad to have our jolly vacation 
I spoiled by this provoking storm. Did n^t 
■*" mind it yesterday, because we could eat 
all the time; but here we are cooped up for a 
week, perhaps, and I 'd like to know what we are 
to do,’’ growled Geoff, as he stood at the win- 
dow looking gloomily at the bleak scene without. 
It certainly was discouraging; for the north 
wind howled, the air was dark with falling snow, 
and drifts were rising over fences, roads, and 
fields, as if to barricade the Christmas party in 
the great country house. 

‘‘ We can bear it pleasantly, since it can’t be 
helped,” said gentle sister Mary, with a kind 
hand on his shoulder, and a face full of sym- 
pathy for his disappointment. “ I ’m sorry for 
the coasting, skating, and sleighing frolics we 
have lost; but if we must be shut up, I ’m sure 
we could n’t have a pleasanter prison or a kinder 


2 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

jailer. Don’t let grandma hear us complain, for 
she has made great exertions to have our visit 
a merry one, and it will trouble her if we are 
not gay and contented.” 

That ’s easy for a parcel of girls, who only 
want to mull over the fire, and chatter, and drink 
tea ; but it ’s rough on us fellows, who come for 
the outside fun. House is well enough; but 
when you Ve seen it once, there ’s an end. Eat- 
ing is jolly, but you can’t stuff forever. We 
might dig, or snowball, if it did n’t blow a gale. 
Never saw such a beast of a storm!” — and 
Geoff flattened his nose against the window- 
pane and scowled at the elements. 

A laugh made him turn around, and forget 
his woes to stare at the quaint little figure that 
stood curtseying in the door-way of the keeping- 
room, where a dozen young people were penned 
while the maids cleared up the remains of yester- 
day’s feast in the kitchen, the mothers were busy 
with the babies upstairs, and the fathers read 
papers in the best parlor; for this was a family 
gathering under the roof of the old homestead. 

A rosy, dark-eyed face looked out from the 
faded green calash, a gayly flowered gown was 
looped up over a blue quilted petticoat, and a red 
camlet cloak hung down behind. A big reticule 
and a funny umbrella were held in either hand, 
and red hose and very high-heeled, pointed shoes 
covered a trim pair of feet. 


3 


Grandma’s Story 

“ God bless you, merry gentlemen ! 
May nothing you dismay ; 

Here ’s your ancient granny come 
To call, this Christmas day,” 


sang Minnie, the lively member of the flock, as 
she bobbed little curtseys and smiled so infec- 
tiously that even cross Geoff cheered up. 

“ Where did you get that rigging? ’’ ** Is fft 

it becoming ? ” What queer stuff ! ” “ Did 

grandma ever look so, I wonder ? ” 

These and many other questions rained upon 
the wearer of the old costume, and she answered 
them as fast as she could. 

‘‘ I went rummaging up garret for something 
to read, and found two chests of old duds. 
Thought I ’d dress up and see how you liked me. 
Grandma said I might, and told me I looked 
like her when she was young. She was a beauty, 
you know; so I feel as proud as a peacock.’* 
And Min danced away to stand before the por- 
trait of a blooming girl in a short-waisted white- 
satin gown and a pearl necklace, which hung 
opposite the companion portrait of an officer in 
an old-fashioned uniform. 

“ So you do. Wonder if I should look like 
grandpa if I got into his old toggery!” said 
Geoff, looking up at the handsome man with the 
queue and the high coat-collar. 

“ Go and try; the uniform is in the chest, and 


4 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

not much moth-eaten. Let ’s have a jolly rum- 
mage, and see what we can find. We did n’t eat 
ourselves sick, so we will amuse these lazy in- 
valids ; ” and Min glanced pityingly at several 
cousins who lay about on sofas or in easy chairs, 
pretending to read, but evidently suffering from 
too great devotion to the bountiful dinner and 
evening feast of yesterday. 

Away went Min and Lotty, Geoff and Walt, 
glad of anything to beguile the stormy after- 
noon. Grandma smiled as she heard the tramp 
of feet overhead, the peals of laughter, and the 
bang of chest-lids, well knowing that a scene of 
dire confusion awaited her when the noisy frolic 
was done, but thankful for the stores of ancient 
finery which would keep the restless children 
happy for a day. 

It was truly a noble garret, for it extended the 
whole length of the great square house, with 
windows at either end, and divided in the middle 
by a solid chimney. All around stood rows of 
chests, dilapidated furniture, and wardrobes full 
of old relics, while the walls were hung with 
many things for which modern tongues can find 
no names. In one corner was a bookcase full of 
musty books and papers; in another, kitchen 
utensils and rusty weapons; the third was de- 
voted to quilts hung on lines, and in the fourth 
stood a loom with a spinning-wheel beside it, 
both seemingly well cared for, as the dust lay 


Grandma’s Story 5 

lightly on them, and flax was still upon the dis- 
taff. 

A glorious rummage followed the irruption of 
the Goths and Vandals into this quiet spot, and 
soon Geoff quite forgot the storm as he pranced 
about in the buff-and-blue coat, with a cocked 
hat on his head, and grandfather^s sword at his 
side. Lotty arrayed herself in a pumpkin hood 
and quilted cloak for warmth, while Walt, the 
book-worm, went straight to the ancient library, 
and became absorbed in faded souvenirs, yellow 
newspapers, and almanacs of a century ago. 

Having displayed themselves below and 
romped all over the house, the masqueraders 
grew tired at last, and early twilight warned 
them to leave before ghostly shadows began to 
haunt the garret. 

‘‘ I mean to take this down and ask grandma 
to show me how it 's done. I Ve heard her tell 
about spinning and weaving when she was a girl, 
and I know I can learn, said Minnie, who had 
fallen in love with the little wheel, and vainly 
tried to twist the flax into as smooth a thread 
as the one hanging from the distaff, as if shad- 
owy fingers had lately spun it. 

Queen Victoria set the fashion in England, 
and we might do it here. Would n’t it be fun to 
have a wheel in the parlor at home, and really 
use it; not keep it tied up with blue ribbons, as 
the other girls do ! ” cried Lotty, charmed with 
the new idea. 


6 Spinning -Wheel Stories 

Come, Geoff, take it down for us. You 
ought to do it out of gratitude for my cheering 
you up so nicely,'' said Min, leading the way. 

“ So I will. Here, Walt, give it a hoist, and 
come behind to pick up the pieces, for the old 
machine must be about a hundred, I guess." 

Shouldering the wheel, Geoff carried it down; 
but no bits fell by the way, for the stout little 
wheel was all in order, kept so by loving hands 
that for more than eighty years had been spin- 
ning the mingled thread of a long and useful 
life. 

Glorious fires were roaring up the wide chim- 
neys in parlor and keeping-room, and old and 
young were gathering around them, while the 
storm beat on the window-panes, and the wintry 
wind howled as if angry at being shut out. 

‘‘ See what we 've stolen, grandma," cried Min, 
as the procession came in, rosy, dusty, gay, and 
eager. 

“ Bless the child ! What possessed you to lug 
that old thing down ? " asked Madam Shirley, 
much amused as the prize was placed before her, 
where she sat in her high-backed chair, — a 
right splendid old lady in her stately cap, black 
silk gown, and muslin apron, with a bunch of 
keys at her side, like a model housekeeper, as she 
was.* 

“ You don't mind our playing with it, do you? 
And will you teach me to spin ? I think it 's such 
a pretty little thing, and I want to be like you in 


Grandma’s Story 7 

all ways, grandma dear,” answered Min, sitting 
on the arm of the great chair, with her fresh 
cheek close to the wrinkled one where winter 
roses still bloomed. 

‘‘ You wheedling gipsy ! I 'll teach you with 
all my heart, for it is pretty work, and I often 
wonder ladies don’t keep it up. I did till I was 
too busy, and now I often take a turn at it when 
I ’m tired of knitting. The hum is very sooth- 
ing, and the thread much stronger than any we 
get nowadays.” 

As she spoke, the old lady dusted the wheel, 
and gave it a skilful turn or two, till the soft 
whir made pleasant music in the room. 

Is it really a hundred years old ? ” asked 
Geoff, drawing nearer with the others to watch 
the new wOrk. 

‘‘ Just about. It was one of my mother’s wed- 
ding presents, and she gave it to me when I was 
fifteen. Deary me, how well I remember that 
day ! ” and grandma seemed to fall a-dreaming 
as her eyes rested on the letters E. R. M. rudely 
cut in the wood, and below these were three 
others with something meant for a true lover’s^ 
knot between. 

“ Whose initials are these ? ” asked Min, 
scenting a romance with girlish quickness, for 
grandma was smiling as if her eyes read the title 
to some little story in those worn letters. 

“ Elizabeth Rachel Morgan, and Joel Manlius 
Shirley. Your blessed grandfather cut our names 


8 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

there the day I was sixteen, and put the flourish 
between to show what he wanted,’’ added the 
old lady, laughing as she made the wheel hum 
again. 

“Tell about it, please do,” begged Min, re- 
membering that grandma had been a beauty and 
a belle. 

“ It ’s a long tale, my darling, and I could n’t 
tell it now. Sometime when I ’m teaching you 
to spin I ’ll do it, maybe.” 

But the girl was determined to have her story ; 
and after tea, when the little ones were in bed, 
the elders playing whist in the parlor, and the 
young folks deciding what game to begin, Min- 
nie sat down and tried to spin, sure that the 
familiar sound would lure grandma to give the 
lesson and tell the tale. 

She was right, for the wheel had not gone 
around many times, when the tap of the cane 
was heard, and the old lady came rustling in, 
quite ready for a chat, now that three cups of 
her own good tea and a nap in the chimney 
corner had refreshed her. 

“No, dear, that’s not the way; you need a 
dish of water to wet your fingers in, and you 
must draw the flax out slow and steady, else 
it runs to waste, and makes a poor thread. 
Fetch me that chair, and I ’ll show you how, 
since you are bent on learning.” 

Establishing herself in the straight-back seat, 


Grandma’s Story 9 

a skilful tap of the foot set the wheel in swift 
and easy motion, and the gray thread twisted 
fine and evenly from the distaff. 

“ Is n't it a pretty picture ? " said Min to 
Lotty, as they watched the old lady work. 

‘‘ Not so pretty as the one I used to see when 
my dear mother sat here, and I, a little child, at 
her knee. Ah, my dears, she could have told 
you stories all night long, and well worth hear- 
ing. I was never tired of them." 

“ Please tell me now, grandma. We don’t 
know what to play, and it would be so nice to 
sit around the fire and hear it this stormy night," 
suggested Min, artfully seizing the hint. 

‘‘Do! Do! We all love stories, and we’ll 
be as still as mice," added Geoff, beckoning to 
the others as he took the big arm-chair, being 
the oldest grandson and leader of the flock. 

Camping on the rug, or nestling in the sofa 
corner, the boys and girls all turned expectant 
faces toward grandma, who settled her cap- 
strings and smoothed her spotless apron, with an 
indulgent smile at her little audience. 

“ I don’t know which one to tell first." 

“ The ghost story ; that ’s a splendid one, and 
most of the children never heard it," said Walt. 

“ Have Indians and fighting in it. I like that 
kind," added Geoff. 

“No; tell a love story. They are so interest- 
ing," said Lotty. 


lo Spinning-Wheel Stories 

‘‘ I want the story about the initials first. I 
know it is very sentimental. So do begin with 
that, grandma,” begged Min. 

Well, dears, perhaps I ’d better choose that 
one, for it has the battle of New Orleans, and 
wolves, and spinning, and sweethearts in it; so 
it will suit you all, I hope.” 

“ Oh, lovely ! Do begin right away,” cried 
Minnie, as the clapping of hands showed how 
satisfactory the prospect was. 

Grandma gave a loud ‘‘ hem ! ” and began at 
once, while the little wheel hummed a soft ac- 
companiment to her words. 

grandma's story 

“ When I was fifteen, my mother gave me 
this wheel, and said : * Now, daughter Betsey, 
it is time for you to begin your wedding outfit, 
for I mistrust you '11 marry young.' In those 
days girls spun and wove webs of fine linen and 
laid 'em up in chests, with lavender and rose- 
mary, for sheets and table-linen after they mar- 
ried. So I spun away, making all manner of 
fine plans in my silly head, for I was a pretty 
piece, they all said, and young as I was, two or 
three fine lads used to come evenings and sit 
staring at me while I worked. 

** Among these, was my neighbor Joel Manlius 
Shirley, and I was fond of him ; but he had n't 
much money, so I put on airs, and tried his 


Grandma’s Story 1 1 

patience very much. One day he came in and 
said : ‘ Betsey, I ’m going a-soldiering ; they 

need men, and I ’m off. Will you think of poor 
Joe when I ’m gone ? ’ 

I don’t know how I looked, but I felt as if I 
could n’t bear it. Only I was too proud to show 
my trouble; so I laughed, and gave my wheel a 
twist, and said I was glad of it, since anything 
was better than hanging round at home. 

“ That hurt him ; but he was always gentle to 
saucy Betsey, and taking out his knife, he cut 
those letters under mine, saying, with a look I 
never could forget : — 

** ‘ That will remind you of me if you are 
likely to forget. Good-by ; I ’m going right 
away and may never come back.’ 

** He kissed me, and was off before I could 
say a word, and then I cried till my flax was wet 
and my thread tangled, and my heart ’most 
broken. Deary me, how well I remember that 
heavy day ! ” 

Grandma smiled, but something shone in her 
old eyes very like a tear, and sentimental Lotty 
felt deeply interested at this point. 

Where does the fighting come in ? ” asked 
Geoff, who was of a military turn, as became the 
descendant of a soldier. 

‘‘ I did n’t know or care much about the War 
of 1812, except as far as the safety of one man 
was concerned. Joe got on without any harm 
till the battle of New Orleans, when he was 


12 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

nearly killed behind the cotton-bale breastworks 
General Jackson built/’ 

‘‘ Yes, I know all about it. Jackson fought 
against twelve thousand, and lost only seven 
men. That was the last battle of the war, Jan- 
uary 8, 1815. Three cheers for grandpa!” 
shouted Geoff, waving a tidy, as no hat was at 
hand. 

The others echoed the hurrah, and grandma 
beamed with pride as she went on : ‘‘We 
could n’t get news from the army very often in 
those troublous times, and Joe was gone two 
years before the war ended. After the great 
battle we had no news for a long spell, and we 
feared he was one of the seven men killed. 
Those were dreadful days for all of us. My 
honored mother was a pious soul, and so was 
Mrs. Shirley; and they kept up their hearts 
with hope and prayer; but I, poor thing, was 
young and weak, and I cried myself half blind, 
remembering how naughty I had been. I would 
spin no more, but set the wheel away, saying I 
should have no need of wedding gear, as I 
should never marry ; and I wore black ribbon on 
my caps, and one of Joe’s buttons strung about 
my neck, mourning dismally for my lost dear. 

“ So the winter ended, and the summer went, 
and no news came of Joe. All said he was dead, 
and we had prayers at church, and talked of set- 
ting up a stone in the grave-yard, and I thought 
my life was done; for I pined sadly, and felt as 


Grandma’s Story 13 

if I could never laugh again. But I did; for the 
Lord was very good to us, and out of danger 
and captivity delivered that dear boy.’’ 

Grandma spoke solemnly, and folded her 
hands in thanksgiving as she looked up at the 
picture of the handsome officer hanging on the 
wall before her. The elder children could just 
remember grandpa as a very old and feeble man, 
and it struck them as funny to speak of him as 
a “ dear boy; ” but they never smiled, and duti- 
fully lifted their eyes to the queue and the high- 
collared coat, wondering if Joe was as rosy in 
real life as in the portrait. 

‘‘Well, that’s the sentimental part; now 
comes the merry part, and that will suit the 
boys,” said the old lady, briskly, as she spun 
away, — and went on in a lively tone : — 

“ One December day, as I sat by that very 
window, dreaming sorrowfully at my sewing 
work, while old Sally nodded over her knitting 
by the fire, I saw a man come creeping along by 
the fence and dodge behind the wood-pile. 
There were many bad folks ’round in those 
times; for war always leaves a sight of lazy 
rascals afloat as well as poor fellows maimed and 
homeless. 

“ Mother had gone over to the sewing society 
at Mrs. Shirley’s, and I was all alone; for Sally 
was so stiff with rheumatics she could scarce stir, 
and that was why I stayed to take care of her. 
The old musket always hung over the kitchen 


14 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

chimney-piece, loaded, and I knew how to fire it, 
for Joe had taught me. So away I went and 
got it down; for I saw the man popping up his 
head now and then to spy the land, and I felt 
sure he meant mischief. I knew Sally would 
only scream like a scared hen, so I let her sleep; 
and getting behind the shutter I pointed my gun, 
and waited to blaze away as soon as the enemy 
showed signs of attacking. 

“ Presently he came creeping up to the back 
door, and I heard him try the latch. All was 
fast, so I just slipped into the kitchen and stood 
behind the settle, for I was surer than ever he 
was a rascal since I ’d seen him nearer. He was 
a tall man, dreadful shabby in an old coat and 
boots, a ragged hat over his eyes, and a great 
beard hiding the lower part of his face. He had 
a little bundle and a big stick in his hands, and- 
limped as if foot-sore or lame. 

I was much afeard ; but those were times 
that made heroes of men, and taught women to 
be brave for love of home and country. So I kept 
steady, with my eye on the window, and my 
finger on the trigger of the old gun, that had n’t 
been fired for years. Presently the man looked 
in, and I saw what a strange roll his great eyes 
had, for he was thin-faced and looked half- 
starved. If mother had been there, she ’d have 
called him in and fed him well, but I dared not, 
and when he tried the window I aimed, but did 
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THE BUITERY DOOR OPENED, AND THERE STOOD THE 

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Grandma’s Story 15 

away, and I dropped on the settle, shaking like a 
leaf. All was still, and in a minute I plucked up 
courage to go to look out a bit; but just as I 
reached the middle of the kitchen, the buttery 
door opened, and there stood the robber, with a 
carving knife in one hand and my best loaf of 
spice bread in the other. He said something, and 
made a rush at me ; but I pulled the trigger, saw 
a flash, felt a blow, and fell somewhere, think- 
ing, ‘Now I’m dead! ’ ” 

Here grandma paused for breath, having 
spoken rapidly and acted out the scene dramat- 
ically, to the intense delight of the children, who 
sat like images of interest, staring at her with 
round eyes. 

“ But you were n’t dead ? What next ? ” cried 
Walt, eagerly. 

“Bless you, no! I only fell into Joe’s arms, 
and when I came to, there the dear fellow was, 
crying over me like a baby, while old Sally 
danced round us like a bedlamite, in spite of her 
rheumatics, shouting : ‘ Hosanna ! Thanks and 
praise ! He ’s come, he ’s come ! ’ ” 

“Was he shot?” asked Geoff, anxious for a 
little bloodshed. 

“No, dear; the old gun burst and hurt my 
hands, but not a mite of harm was done to Joe. 
I don’t think I could tell all that happened for a 
spell, being quite dazed with joy and surprise; 
but by the time mother came home I was as peart 
as a wren, and Joe was at the table eating and 


1 6 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

drinking every mortal thing I could find in the 
house. 

‘‘ He ’d been kept a prisoner till exchanged, 
and had had a hard time getting home, with 
little money and a bad wound in the leg, besides 
being feeble with jail fever. But we did n't fret 
over past troubles, being so glad to get him back. 
How my blessed mother did laugh, when we told 
her the reception I gave the poor lad! But I 
said it served him right, since he came sneaking 
home like a thief, instead of marching in like a 
hero. Then he owned that he came there to get 
something to eat, being ashamed to go in upon 
his mother with all her company about her. So 
we fed and comforted him ; and when we 'd got 
our wits about us, I whipped away to Mrs. Shir- 
ley’s and told my news, and every one of those 
twenty-five women went straight over to our 
house and burst in upon poor Joe, as he lay rest- 
ing on the settle. That was my revenge for the 
scare he gave me, and a fine one it was; for the 
women chattered over him like a flock of mag- 
pies, and I sat in the corner and laughed at him. 
Ah, I was a sad puss in those days ! ” 

The old lady’s black eyes twinkled with fun, 
and the children laughed with her, till Walt 
caused a lull by asking : — 

Where do the wolves come in, grandma ? ” 

‘‘ Right along, dear ; I ’m not likely to forget 
’em, for they most cost me my life, to say noth- 
ing of my new slippers. There was great re- 


Grandma’s Story 17 

joicing over Joe, and every one wanted to do 
something to honor our hero; for he had done 
well, we found out, when the General heard his 
story. We had a great dinner, and Judge Mulli- 
kin gave a supper; but Major Belknap was 
bound to outshine the rest, so he invited all the 
young folks over to his house, nigh ten miles 
away, to a ball, and we all went. I made myself 
fine, you may believe, and wore a pair of blue 
kid slippers, with mother’s best buckles to set 
’em off. Joe had a new uniform, and was an 
elegant figure of a man, I do assure you. He 
could n’t dance, poor dear, being still very lame : 
but I was a proud girl when I marched into that 
ballroom on the arm of my limping beau. The 
men cheered, and the ladies stood up in chairs 
to see him, and he was as red as my ribbons, 
and I could hardly keep from crying, as I held 
him up, — the floor being slippery as glass with 
the extra waxing it had got. 

‘‘ I declared I would n’t dance, because Joe 
could n’t ; but he made me, saying he could see 
me better; so I footed it till two o’clock, soon 
forgetting all my sorrow and my good resolu- 
tions as well. I wanted to show Joe that I was 
as much a favorite as ever, though I ’d lived 
like a widow for a year. Young folks will be 
giddy, and I hope these girls will take warning 
by me and behave better when their time comes. 
There mayn’t be any wolves to sober ’em, but 
trouble of some sort always follows foolish ac- 


1 8 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

tions; so be careful, my dears, and behave with 
propriety when you ‘ come out,' as you call it 
nowadays.” 

Grandma held up a warning forefinger at the 
girls, and shook her head impressively, feeling 
that the moral of her tale must be made clear 
before she went on. But the lassies blushed a 
little, and the lads looked all impatience, so the 
dear old lady introduced the wolves as quickly 
as she could. 

About half-past two, Joe and I drove off 
home with four fine hams in the bottom of the 
sleigh, sent by the Major to our mothers. It 
was a bitter-cold February night, with just light 
enough to see the road, and splendid sleighing; 
so we went along at a good pace, till we came 
to the great woods. They are all gone now, 
and the woollen mills stand there, but then they 
were a thick forest of pines, and for more than 
three miles the road led through them. In 
former days Indians had lurked there ; bears and 
foxes were still shot, and occasionally wolves 
were seen, when cold weather drove them to 
seek food near the sheep-folds and barn-yards. 

** Well, we were skimming along pleasantly 
enough, I rather sleepy, and Joe very careful of 
me, when, just as I was beginning to doze a bit 
with my head on his arm I felt him start. Old 
Buck, the horse, gave a jump that woke me up, 
and in a minute I knew what the trouble was, 
for from behind us came the howl of a wolf. 


Grandma’s Story 19 

“ ‘ Just the night to bring ’em out,’ muttered 
Joe, using the whip till Buck went at his quick- 
est trot, with his ears down and every sign of 
hurry and worry about him. 

‘ Are you afraid of them ? ’ I asked, for I ’d 
never had a scare of this sort, though I ’d heard 
other people tell of the fierceness of the brutes 
when hunger made them bold. 

“ ‘ Not a bit, only I wish I had my gun along,’ 
said Joe, looking over his shoulder anxiously. 

‘‘ ‘ Pity I had n’t brought mine — I do so well 
with it,’ I said, and I laughed as I remembered 
how I aimed at Joe and hurt myself. 

“ ‘ Are they chasing us ? ’ I asked, standing 
up to look back along the white road, for we 
were just on the edge of the woods now. 

‘ Should n’t wonder. If I had a better horse 
it would be a lively race; but Buck can’t keep 
this pace long, and if he founders we are in a 
fix, for I can’t run, and you can’t fight. Betsey, 
there ’s more than one ; hold tight and try to 
count ’em.’ 

‘‘ Something in Joe’s voice told me plainer 
than words that we were in danger, and I wished 
we ’d waited till the rest of our party came ; but 
I was tired, and so we had started alone. 

Straining my eyes, I could see three black 
spots on the snow, and hear three howls as the 
wolves came galloping after us. I was a brave 
girl, but I ’d never tried this kind of thing be- 
fore, and in a minute all the wolf stories I ’d 


20 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

ever heard came flying through my mind. I was 
mortally afeard, but I would n’t show it, and 
turned to Joe, trying to laugh as I said : ‘ Only 
three as yet. Tell me just what to do, and I ’ll 
do it’ 

‘ Brave lass ! I must see to Buck or he ’ll be 
down, for he ’s badly scared. You wait till the 
rascals are pretty close, then heave over one of 
these confounded hams to amuse ’em, while we 
make the most of their halt. They smell this 
meat, and that ’s what they are after,’ said Joe, 
driving his best, for the poor old horse began to 
pant, and limp on his stiff legs. 

“ ‘ Lucky for us we ’ve got ’em,’ says I, bound 
to be cool and gay; ‘if we hadn’t, they’d get 
fresh meat instead of smoked.’ 

“ Joe laughed, but a long howl close by made 
me dive for a ham; for in the darkness of the 
woods the beasts had got closer, and now all I 
could see were several balls of fire not many 
yards away. Out went the ham, and a snarl- 
ing sound showed that the wolves were busy 
eating it. 

“‘All right!’ said Joe. ‘Rest a bit, and 
have another ready. They’ll soon finish that 
and want more. We must go easy, for Buck is 
nearly blown.’ 

“ I prepared my ammunition, and, in what 
seemed five minutes, I heard the patter of feet 
behind us, and the fiery eyes were close by. Over 
went the second mouthful, and then the third, 


Grandma’s Story 2 i 

and the fourth; but they seemed more ravenous 
than ever, and each time were back sooner in 
greater numbers. 

“We were nearly out of the woods when the 
last was gone, and if Buck had only had strength 
we should have been safe. But it was plain to 
see that he could n’t keep up much longer, for 
he was very old, though he ’d been a fine horse 
in his prime. 

“ ‘ This looks bad, little Betsey. Cover up in 
the robes, and hold fast to me. The beasts will 
begin to snatch presently, and I ’ll have to fight 
’em off. Thank the powers, I ’ve my arms left.’ 

“ As he spoke, Joe pulled me close, and 
wrapped me up, then took the whip, ready to 
rap the first wolf that dared come near enough 
to be hit. We did n’t wait long; up they raced, 
and began to leap and snarl in a way that made 
my heart stand still, at first. Then my temper 
rose, and catching up the hot brick I had for my 
feet, I fired it with such good aim that one sharp, 
black nose disappeared with a yelp of pain. 

“ ‘ Hit ’em again, Betsey! Take the demijohn 
and bang ’em well. We are nearing Beaman’s, 
and the brutes will soon drop off.’ 

“ It was a lively scrimmage for a few minutes, 
as we both warmed to our work, Joe thrashing 
away with his whip on one side, and I on the 
other flourishing the demijohn in which we had 
carried some cider for the supper. 

“ But it was soon over, for in the fury of the 


2 2 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

fight Joe forgot the horse; poor Buck made a 
sudden bolt, upset the sleigh down a bank, and, 
breaking loose, tore back along the road with the 
wolves after him. 

“‘Run, Betsey! run for your life, and send 
Beaman’s folks back ! I ’m done for — my leg ’s 
broken . Never mind. I ’ll crawl under the 
Si. :: r, ind be all right till you come. The 
wolve- will take a good while to pick poor 

' k' bones.’ 

“ Jusi waiting to see Joe safe, I ran as I never 
ran before, — and I was always light of foot. 
How I did it I don’t know, for I ’d forgot to put 
on my moccasins (we did n’t have snow-boots, 
you know, in my young days), and there I was, 
tearing along that snowy, road in my blue kid 
slippers like a crazy thing. It was nigh a mile, 
and my heart was ’most broke before I got there ; 
but I kept my eye on the light in Hetty’s winder 
and tugged along, blessing her for the guide and 
comfort that candle was. The last bit was down 
hill, or I could n’t have done it ; for when I fell 
on the doorstep my voice was clean gone, and I 
could only lie and rap, rap, rap! till they came 
flying. I just got breath enough to gasp out 
and point ; — 

“‘Joe — wolves — the big woods — go ! ’ 
when my senses failed me, and I was carried in.” 

Here Madam Shirley leaned back in her chair 
quite used up, for she had been acting the scene 
to a breathless audience, and laying about her 


Grandma’s Story 2 3 

with her handkerchief so vigorously that her 
eyes snapped, her cheeks were red, and her dear 
old cap all awry. 

‘‘But Joe — did they eat him?’’ cried the 
boys in great excitement, while the girls held to 
one another, and the poor little wheel lay flat, up- 
set by the blows of the imaginary demijohn, 
dealt to an equally imaginary wolf. 

“ Hardly, — since he lived to be your grand- 
father,” laughed the old lady, in high feather at 
the success of her story. 

“No, no, — we mean the horse;” shouted 
Geoff, while the others roared at the mistake. 

“ Yes, they did. Poor old Buck saved us, at 
the cost of his own life. His troubles were over, 
but mine were not; for when I came to, I saw 
Mr. Beaman, and my first thought and word was 
‘Joe?’” 

“ ‘ Too late — they ’d got him, so we turned 
back to tell you,’ said that stupid man. 

“ I gave one cry and was going off again, 
when his wife shook me, and says, laughing: 
‘You little goose! He means the folks from 
the Major’s. A lot came along and found Joe, 
and took him home, and soon ’s ever you ’re fit 
we ’ll send you along, too.’ 

“‘I’m ready now,’ says I, jumping up in a 
hurry. But I had to sit down again, for my feet 
were all cut and bleeding and my slippers just 
rags. They fixed me up and off I went, to find 
mother in a sad taking. But Joe was all right; 


24 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

he hadn’t broken his leg, but only sprained it 
badly, and being the wounded one he was laid 
up longer than I. We both got well, however, 
and the first time Joe went out he hobbled over 
to our house. I was spinning again then, and 
thought I might need my wedding outfit, after 
all — On the whole, I guess we ’ll end the story 
here; young folks wouldn’t care for that part.” 

As grandma paused, the girls cried out with 
one voice: Yes, we do! we like it best. You 
said you would. Tell about the wedding and 
all.” 

“ Well, well, it is n’t much. Joe came and sat 
by me, and, as we talked over our adventure, he 
cut that true lover’s knot between the letters. I 
did n’t seem to mind and spun away till he 
pointed to it, saying, with the look that always 
made me meek as a lamb, ‘ May it stand so, my 
little Betsey ? ’ 

‘‘ I said ‘ Yes, Joe,’ and then — well, never 
mind that bit; — we were married in June, and 
I spun and wove my wedding things afterward. 
Dreadful slack, my mother thought, but I did n’t 
care. My wedding gown was white lutestring, 
full trimmed with old lace. Hair over a cushion 
with white roses, and the pearl necklace, just as 
you see up there. Joe wore his uniform, and I 
tied up his hair with a white satin ribbon. He 
looked beautiful, — and so did I.” 

At this artless bit of vanity, the girls smiled. 


Grandma’s Story 25 

but all agreed that grandma was right, as they 
looked at the portraits with fresh interest. 

I call that a pretty good story,” said Walt, 
with the air of an accomplished critic. 

“ ’Specially the wolf part. I wanted that 
longer,” added Geoff. 

“ It was quite long enough for me, my dear, 
and I did n’t hear the last of it for years. Why, 
one of my wedding presents was four hams done 
up elegantly in white paper, with posies on ’em, 
from the Major. He loved a joke, and never 
forgot how well we fought with the pigs’ legs 
that night. Joe gave me a new sleigh, the next 
Christmas, with two wolf-skin robes for it, — 
shot the beasts himself, and I kept those rugs till 
the moths ate the last bit. He kept the leavings 
of my slippers, and I have them still. Fetch ’em, 
Minnie — you know where they are.” 

Grandma pointed to the tall secretary that 
stood in a corner, and Minnie quickly took a box 
from one of the many drawers. All the heads 
clustered around grandma, and the faded, ragged 
shoes went from hand to hand, while questions 
rained upon the story-teller till she bade them go 
to bed. 

Nothing but the promise of more tales would 
appease them; then, with thanks and kisses, the 
young folks trooped away, leaving the old lady 
to put the little wheel to rights, and sit thinking 
over her girlhood, in the fire-light. 


4 


TABBY’S TABLE-CLOTH 


T he storm kept on all night, and next 
morning the drifts were higher, the wind 
stronger, and the snow falling faster 
than ever. Through the day the children roved 
about the great house, amusing themselves as 
best they could; and, when evening came, they 
gathered around the fire again, eager for the 
promised story from grandmamma. 

“ I ’ve a little cold,” said the old lady, “ and 
am too hoarse for talking, my dears; but Aunt 
Elinor has looked up a parcel of old tales that 
I ’ve told her at different times and which she 
has written down. You will like to hear her 
reading better than my dull way of telling them, 
and I can help Minnie and Lotty with their 
work, for I see they are bent on learning to 
spin.” 

The young folk were well pleased with 
grandma’s proposal; for Aunt Nell was a 
favorite with all, being lively and kind and fond 
of children, and the only maiden aunt in the 
family. Now, she smilingly produced a faded 
old portfolio, and, turning over a little pile of 
manuscripts, said in her pleasant way : — 


2 8 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Here are all sorts, picked up in my travels 
at home and abroad; and in order to suit all of 
you, I have put the names on slips of paper into 
this basket, and each can draw one in turn. 
Does that please my distinguished audience?'^ 

“ Yes, yes. Geoff ’s the oldest, let him draw 
first,” cried the flock, fluttering like a flight of 
birds before they settle. 

Girls come first,” answered the boy, with a 
nod toward the eldest girl cousin. 

Lotty put in her hand and, after some fum- 
bling, drew out a paper on which was written, 
"" Tabby's Table-cloth.” “ Is that a good one? ” 
she asked, for Geoff looked disappointed. 

‘‘ More fighting, though a girl is still the hero- 
ine,” answered Aunt Nell, searching for the 
manuscript. 

“ I think two revolutions will be enough for 
you, General,” added grandmamma, laughing. 

‘‘ Do we beat in both ? ” asked the boy, bright- 
ening up at once. 

Yes.” 

All right, then. I vote for ‘ Dolly’s Dish- 
cloth,’ or whatever it is; though I don’t see 
what it can possibly have to do with war,” he 
added. 

“ Ah, my dear, women have their part to play 
as well as men at such times, and do it bravely, 
though one does not hear so much about their 
courage. I ’ve often wished some one would 
collect all that can be found about these neglected 


Tabby’s Table-Cloth 29 

heroines, and put it in a book for us to read, 
admire, and emulate when our turn comes/’ 
Grandma looked thoughtfully at the fire as 
she spoke, and Lotty said, with her eye on the 
portfolio: Perhaps Aunt Nell will do it for 

us. Then history won’t be so dry, and we can 
glorify our fore-mothers as well as fathers.” 

“ I ’ll see what I can find. Now spin away, 
Minnie, and sit still, boys, — if you can.” 

Then, having settled grandma’s foot-stool, and 
turned up the lamp. Aunt Nell read the tale of 


tabby’s table - CLOTH 

On the 20th day of March, 1775, a little girl 
was trudging along a country road, with a basket 
of eggs on her arm. She seemed in a great 
hurry, and looked anxiously about her as she 
went ; for those were stirring times, and Tabitha 
Tarbell lived in a town that took a famous part 
in the Revolution. She was a rosy-faced, bright- 
eyed lass of fourteen, full of vigor, courage, and 
patriotism, and just then much excited by the 
frequent rumors which reached Concord that the 
British were coming to destroy the stores sent 
there for safe keeping while the enemy occupied 
Boston. Tabby glowed with wrath at the idea, 
and (metaphorically speaking) shook her fist at 
august King George, being a stanch little Rebel, 
ready to fight and die for her country rather than 
submit to tyranny of any kind. 


30 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

In nearly every house something- valuable was 
hidden. Colonel Barrett had six barrels of pow- 
der; Ebenezer Hubbard, sixty-eight barrels of 
flour; axes, tents, and spades were at Daniel 
Cray’s; and Captain David Brown had guns, 
cartridges, and musket balls. Cannon were hid- 
den in the woods; fire-arms were being manu- 
factured at Barrett’s Mills ; cartouch-boxes, belts, 
and holsters, at Reuben Brown’s; saltpetre at 
Josiah Melvin’s; and much oatmeal was pre- 
pared at Captain Timothy Wheeler’s. A morn- 
ing gun was fired, a guard of ten men patrolled 
the town at night, and the brave farmers were 
making ready for what they felt must come. 

There were Tories in the town who gave the 
enemy all the information they could gather; 
therefore much caution was necessary in making 
plans, lest these enemies should betray them. 
Pass-words were adopted, secret signals used, 
and messages sent from house to house in all 
sorts of queer ways. Such a message lay hidden 
under the eggs in Tabby’s basket, and the brave 
little girl was going on an important errand from 
her uncle. Captain David Brown, to Deacon 
Cyrus Hosmer, who lived at the other end of the 
town, by the South Bridge. She had been em- 
ployed several times before in the same way, and 
had proved herself quick-witted, stout-hearted, 
and light-footed. Now, as she trotted along in 
her scarlet cloak and hood, she was wishing she 


Tabby’s Table-Cloth 31 

could still further distinguish herself by some 
great act of heroism ; for good Parson Emerson 
had patted her on the head and said, Well 
done, child ! ” when he heard how she ran all the 
way to Captain Barrett’s, in the night, to warn 
him that Doctor Lee, the Tory, had been detected 
sending information of certain secret plans to the 
enemy. 

“ I would do more than that, though it was 
a fearsome run through the dark woods. 
Wouldn’t those two like to know all I know 
about the stores ? But I would n’t tell ’em, not 
if they drove a bayonet through me. I ’m not 
afeard of ’em; ” and Tabby tossed her head de- 
fiantly, as she paused to shift her basket from 
one arm to the other. 

But she evidently was “ afeard ” of something, 
for her ruddy cheeks turned pale and her heart 
gave a thump, as two men came in sight, and 
stopped suddenly on seeing her. They were 
strangers; and though nothing in their dress 
indicated it, the girl’s quick eye saw that they 
were soldiers ; step and carriage betrayed it, and 
the rapidity with which these martial gentlemen 
changed into quiet travellers roused her sus- 
picions at once. They exchanged a few whis- 
pered words; then they came on, swinging their 
stout sticks, one whistling, the other keeping a 
keen lookout along the lonely road before and 
behind them. 


32 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

My pretty lass, can you tell me where Mr. 
Daniel Bliss lives ? ” asked the younger, with a 
smile and a salute. 

Tabby was sure now that they were British; 
for the voice was deep and full, the face a ruddy 
English face, and the man they wanted was a 
well-known Tory. But she showed no sign of 
alarm, beyond the modest color in her cheeks, 
and answered civilly : “ Yes, sir, over yonder a 
piece.” 

Thanks and a kiss for that,” said the young 
man, stooping to bestow his gift. But he got 
a smart box on the ear, and Tabby ran off in a 
fury of indignation. 

With a laugh they went on, never dreaming 
that the little Rebel was going to turn spy her- 
self, and get the better of them. She hurried 
away to Deacon Hosmer’s, and did her errand, 
adding thereto the news that strangers were in 
town. We must know more of them,” said the 
Deacon. “ Clap a different suit on her, wife, and 
send her with the eggs to Mrs. Bliss. We have 
all we want of them, and Tabby can look well 
about her, while she rests and gossips over there. 
Bliss must be looked after smartly, for he is a 
knave, and will do us harm.” 

Away went Tabby in a blue cloak and hood, 
much pleased with her mission; and, coming to 
the Tory’s house about noon, smelt afar off a 
savory odor of roasting meat and baking pies. 

Stepping softly to the back-do^ r, she peeped 


Tabby’s Table-Cloth 33 

through a small window, and saw Mrs. Bliss and 
her handmaid cooking away in the big kitchen, 
too busy to heed the little spy, who slipped around 
to the front of the house, to take a general sur- 
vey before she went in. All she saw confirmed 
her suspicions; for in the keeping-room a table 
was set forth in great style, with the silver tank- 
ards, best china, and the fine damask table-cloth, 
which the housewife kept for holidays. Still an- 
other peep through the lilac bushes before the 
parlor windows showed her the two strangers 
closeted with Mr. Bliss, all talking earnestly, but 
in too low a tone for a word to reach even her 
sharp ears. 

I will know what they are at. I ’m sure it 
is mischief, and I won’t go back with only my 
walk for my pains,” thought Tabby; and march- 
ing into the kitchen, she presented her eggs with 
a civil message from Madam Hosmer. 

They are mighty welcome, child. I Ve used 
a sight for my custards, and need more for the 
flip. We ’ve company to dinner unexpected, and 
I ’m much put about,” said Mrs. Bliss, who 
seemed to be concerned about something besides 
the dinner, and in her flurry forgot to be sur- 
prised at the unusual gift; for the neighbors 
shunned them, and the poor woman had many 
anxieties on her husband’s account, the family 
being divided, — one brother a Tory, and one a 
Rebel. 

Can I help, ma’am? I ’m a master hand at 


34 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

beating eggs, Aunt Hitty says. I 'm tired, and 
would n’t mind sitting a bit if I ’m not in the 
way,” said Tabby, bound to discover something 
more before she left. 

‘‘ But you be in the way. We don’t want any 
help, so you ’d better be steppin’ along home, else 
suthin’ besides eggs may git whipped. Tale- 
bearers ain’t welcome here,” said old Puah, the 
maid, a sour spinster, who sympathized with her 
master, and openly declared she hoped the British 
would put down the Yankee Rebels soon and 
sharply. 

Mrs. Bliss was in the pantry, and heard 
nothing of this little passage of arms; for Tabby 
hotly resented the epithet of tale-bearer,” 
though she knew that the men in the parlor were 
not the only spies on the premises. 

‘‘ When you are all drummed out of town and 
this house burnt to the ground, you may be glad 
of my help, and I wish you may get it. Good- 
day, old crab-apple,” answered saucy Tabby; and 
catching up her basket, she marched out of the 
kitchen with her nose in the air. 

But as she passed the front of the house, she 
could not resist another look at the fine dinner- 
table ; for in those days few had time or heart for 
feasting, and the best napery and china seldom 
appeared. One window stood open, and as the 
girl leaned in, something moved under the long 
cloth that swept the floor. It was not the wind, 
for the March day was still and sunny, and in 


Tabby’s Table-Cloth 35 

a minute out popped a gray cat's head, and puss 
came purring to meet the new-comer whose step 
had roused her from a nap. 

Where one tabby hides, another can. Can I 
dare to do it? What would become of me if 
found out? How wonderful it would be if I 
could hear what these men are plotting. I will ! " 

A sound in the next room decided her; and, 
thrusting the basket among the bushes, she leaped 
lightly in and vanished under the table, leaving 
puss calmly washing her face on the window-sill. 

As soon as it was done Tabby’s heart began 
to flutter; but it was too late to retreat, for at 
that moment in bustled Mrs. Bliss, and the poor 
girl could only make herself as small as possible, 
quite hidden under the long folds that fell on all 
sides from the wide, old-fashioned table. She 
discovered nothing from the women’s chat, for 
it ran on sage-cheese, egg-nog, roast pork, and 
lamentations over a burnt pie. By the time din- 
ner was served, and the guests called in to eat it. 
Tabby was calm enough to have all her wits about 
her, and pride gave her courage to be ready for 
the consequences, whatever they might be. 

For a time the hungry gentlemen were too busy 
eating to talk much; but when Mrs. Bliss went 
out, and the flip came in, they were ready for 
business. The window was shut, whereat Tabby 
exulted that she was inside; the talkers drew 
closer together, and spoke so low that she could 
only catch a sentence now and then, which caused 
her to pull her hair with vexation; and they 


36 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

swore a good deal, to the great horror of the 
pious little maiden curled up at their feet. But 
she heard enough to prove that she was right; 
for these men were Captain Brown and Ensign 
De Bemicre, of the British army, come to learn 
where the supplies were stored and how well the 
town was defended. She heard Mr. Bliss tell 
them that some of the “ Rebels,” as he called his 
neighbors, had sent him word that he should not 
leave the town alive, and he was in much fear for 
his life and property. She heard the Englishmen 
tell him that if he came with them they would 
protect him; for they were armed, and three of 
them together could surely get safely off, as no 
one knew the strangers had arrived but the slip 
of a girl w^ho showed them the way. Here “ the 
slip of a girl ” nodded her head savagely, and 
hoped the speaker’s ear still tingled with the 
buffet she gave it. 

Mr. Bliss gladly consented to this plan, and 
told them he would show them the road to Lex- 
ington, which was a shorter way to Boston than 
through Weston and Sudbury, the road they 
came. 

“These people won’t fight, will they?” asked 
Ensign De Bernicre. 

“ There goes a man who will fight you to the 
death,” answered Mr. Bliss, pointing to his 
brother Tom, busy in a distant field. 

The Ensign swore again, and gave a stamp 
that brought his heavy heel down on poor 


Tabby’s Table-Cloth 37 

Tabby’s hand, as she leaned forward to catch 
every word. The cruel blow nearly forced a cry 
from her; but she bit her lips and never stirred, 
though faint with pain. When she could listen 
again, Mr. Bliss was telling all he knew about 
the hiding places of the powder, grain, and can- 
non the enemy wished to capture and destroy. 
He could not tell much, for the secrets had been 
well kept; but if he had known that our young 
Rebel was taking notes of his words under his 
own table, he might have been less ready to be- 
tray his neighbors. No one suspected a listener, 
however, and all Tabby could do was to scowl 
at three pairs of muddy boots, and wish she were 
a man that she might fight the wearers of them. 

She very nearly had a chance to fight or fly; 
for just as they were preparing to leave the table, 
a sudden sneeze nearly undid her. She thought 
she was lost, and hid her face, expecting to be 
dragged out — to instant death, perhaps — by the 
wrathful men of war. 

‘‘ What ’s that ? ” exclaimed the Ensign, as a 
sudden pause followed that fatal sound. 

It came from under the table,” added Captain 
Brown, and a hand lifted a corner of the cloth. 

A shiver went through Tabby, and she held 
her breath, with her eye upon that big, brown 
hand ; but the next moment she could have 
laughed with joy, for pussy saved her. The cat 
had come to doze on her warm skirts, and when 
the cloth was raised, fancying she was to be fed 


38 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

by her master, puss rose and walked out purring 
loudly, tail erect, with its white tip waving like 
a flag of truce. 

“ T is but the old cat, gentlemen. A good 
beast, and, fortunately for us, unable to report 
our conference,’^ said Mr. Bliss, with an air of 
relief, for he had started guiltily at the bare idea 
of an eavesdropper. 

“ She sneezed as if she were as great a snuff- 
taker as an old woman of whom we asked our 
way above here,” laughed the Ensign, as they all 
rose. 

“ And there she is now, coming along as if our 
grenadiers were after her ! ” exclaimed the Cap- 
tain, as the sound of steps and a wailing voice 
came nearer and nearer. 

Tabby took a long breath, and vowed that she 
would beg or buy the dear old cat that had saved 
her from destruction. Then she forgot her own 
danger in listening to the poor woman, who came 
in crying that her neighbors said she must leave 
town at once, or they would tar and feather her 
for showing spies the road to a Tory’s house. 

Well for me I came and heard their plots, 
or I might be sent off in like case,” thought the 
girl, feeling that the more perils she encountered, 
the greater heroine she would be. 

Mr. Bliss comforted the old soul, bidding her 
stay there till the neighbors forgot her, and the 
officers gave her some money to pay for the costly 
service she had done them. Then they left the 


Tabby’s Table-Cloth 39 

room, and after some delay the three men set 
off; but Tabby was compelled to stay in her 
hiding-place till the table was cleared, and the 
women deep in gossip, as they washed dishes in 
the kitchen. Then the little spy crept out softly, 
and raising the window with great care, ran away 
as fast as her stiff limbs would carry her. 

By the time she reached the Deacon's, how- 
ever, and told her tale, the Tories were well on 
their way, Mr. Bliss having provided them with 
horses that his own flight might be the speedier. 

So they escaped; but the warning was given, 
and Tabby received great praise for her hour 
under the table. The town’s-people hastened their 
preparations, and had time to remove the most 
valuable stores to neighboring towns; to mount 
their cannon and drill their minute-men; for 
these resolute farmers meant to resist oppres- 
sion, and the world knows how well they did it 
when the hour came. 

Such an early spring had not been known for 
years; and by the 19th of April fruit trees were 
in bloom, winter grain was up, and the stately 
elms that fringed the river and overarched the 
village streets were budding fast. It seemed a 
pity that such a lovely world should be disturbed 
by strife; but liberty was dearer than prosperity 
or peace, and the people leaped from their beds 
when young Dr. Prescott came, riding for his 
life, with the message Paul Revere brought from 
Boston in the night : — 


40 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

‘^Arm! arm! the British are coming! 

Like an electric spark the news ran from house 
to house, and men made ready to fight, while the 
brave women bade them go, and did their best 
to guard the treasure confided to their keeping. 
A little later, word came that the British were 
at Lexington, and blood had been shed. Then 
the farmers shouldered their guns, with few 
words but stern faces, and by sunrise a hundred 
men stood ready, with good Parson Emerson at 
their head. More men were coming in from the 
neighboring towns, and all felt that the hour had 
arrived when patience ceased to be a virtue and 
rebellion was just. 

Great was the excitement everywhere; but at 
Captain David Brown’s one little heart beat high 
with hope and fear, as Tabby stood at the door, 
looking across the river to the town, where drums 
were beating, bells ringing, and people hurrying 
to and fro. 

“ I can’t fight, but I must see,” she said ; and 
catching up her cloak, she ran over the North 
Bridge, promising her aunt to return and bring 
her word as soon as the enemy appeared. 

What news? Are they coming? ” called the 
people, from the Manse and the few houses that 
then stood along that road. But Tabby could 
only shake her head and run the faster, in her 
eagerness to see what was happening on that 
memorable day. When she reached the middle 
of the town she found that the little company 


Tabby’s Table-Cloth 41 

had gone along the Lexington road to meet the 
enemy. Nothing daunted, she hurried in that 
direction and, climbing a high bank, waited to 
catch a glimpse of the British grenadiers, of 
whom she had heard so much. 

About seven o’clock they came, the sun glit- 
tering on the arms of eight hundred English 
soldiers marching toward the hundred stout- 
hearted farmers, who waited till they were within 
a few rods of them. 

“ Let us stand our ground; and if we die, let 
us die here,” said brave Parson Emerson, still 
among his people, ready for anything but sur- 
render. 

“ Nay,” said a cautious Lincoln man, it will 
not do for us to begin the war.” 

So they reluctantly fell back to the town, the 
British following slowly, being weary with their 
seven-mile march over the hills from Lexington. 
Coming to a little brown house perched on the 
hillside, one of the thirsty officers spied a well, 
with the bucket swinging at the end of the long 
pole. Running up the bank, he was about to 
drink, when a girl, who was crouching behind the 
well, sprang up, and with an energetic gesture, 
flung the water in his face, crying : — 

That ’s the way we serve spies ! ” 

Before Ensign De Bernicre — for it was he, 
acting as guide to the enemy — could clear his 
eyes and dry his drenched face. Tabby was gone 
over the hill with a laugh and a defiant gesture 
toward the red-coats below. 


42 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

In high feather at this exploit, she darted 
about the town, watching the British at their 
work of destruction. They cut down and burnt 
the liberty pole, broke open sixty barrels of flour, 
flung five hundred pounds of balls into the mill- 
pond and wells, and set the court-house on fire. 
Other parties were ordered to different quarters 
of the town to ransack houses and destroy all 
the stores they found. Captain Parsons was sent 
to take possession of the North Bridge, and De 
Bernicre led the way, for he had taken notes on 
his former visit, and was a good guide. As they 
marched, a little scarlet figure went flying on 
before them, and vanished at the turn of the 
road. It was Tabby hastening home to warn 
her aunt. 

Quick child, whip on this gown and cap and 
hurry into bed. These prying fellows will surely 
have pity on a sick girl, and respect this room 
if no other,’' said Mrs. Brown, briskly helping 
Tabby into a short night-gown and round cap, 
and tucking her well up when she was laid down, 
for between the plump feather-beds were hidden 
many muskets, the most precious of their stores. 
This had been planned beforehand, and Tabby 
was glad to rest and tell her tale while Aunty 
Brown put physic bottles and glasses on the ta- 
ble, set some evil-smelling herbs to simmer on the 
hearth, and, compromising with her conscience, 
concocted a nice little story to tell the invaders. 

Presently they came, and it was well for 


Tabby’s Table-Cloth 43 

Tabby that the ensign remained below to guard 
the doors while the men ransacked the house 
from garret to cellar; for he might have rec- 
ognized the saucy girl who had twice maltreated 
him. 

“These are feathers; lift the covers carefully 
or you ’ll be half smothered, they fly about so,” 
said Mrs. Brown, as the men came to some casks 
of cartridges and flints, which she had artfully 
ripped up several pillows to conceal. 

Quite deceived, the men gladly passed on, 
leaving the very things they most wanted to 
destroy. Coming to the bed-room, where more 
treasures of the same valuable sort were hidden 
in various nooks and corners, the dame held up 
her finger, saying, with an anxious glance toward 
Tabby : — 

“ Step softly, please. You would n’t harm a 
poor, sick girl. The doctor thinks it is small- 
pox, and a fright might kill her. I keep the 
chamber as fresh as I can with yarbs, so I guess 
there is n’t much danger of catching it.” 

The men reluctantly looked in, saw” a flushed 
face on the pillow (for Tabby was red with run- 
ning, and her black eyes wild with excitement), 
took a sniff at the wormwood and motherwort, 
and with a hasty glance into a closet or two 
where sundry clothes concealed hidden doors, 
hastily retired to report the danger and get away 
as soon as possible. 

They would have been much disgusted at the 


44 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

trick played upon them if they had seen the sick 
girl fly out of bed and dance a jig of joy as they 
tramped away to Barrett’s Mills. But soon 
Tabby had no heart for merriment, as she 
watched the minute-men gather by the bridge, 
saw the British march down on the other side, 
and when their first volley killed brave Isaac 
Davis and Abner Hosmer, of Acton, she heard 
Major Buttrick give the order, ‘‘ Fire, fellow- 
soldiers ; for God’s sake, fire ! ” 

For a little while shots rang, smoke rose, 
shouts were heard, and red and blue coats min- 
gled in the struggle on the bridge. Then the 
British fell back, leaving two dead soldiers be- 
hind them. These were buried where they fell; 
and the bodies of the Acton men were sent home 
to their poor wives, Concord’s first martyrs for 
liberty. 

No need to tell more of the story of that day; 
all children know it, and many have made a pil- 
grimage to see the old monument set up where 
the English fell, and the bronze Minute-Man, 
standing on his granite pedestal to mark the spot 
where the brave Concord farmers fired the shot 
that made the old North Bridge immortal. 

We must follow Tabby, and tell how she got 
her table-cloth. When the fight was over, the 
dead buried, the wounded cared for, and the 
prisoners exchanged, the Tories were punished. 
Dr. Lee was confined to his own farm, on penalty 
of being shot if he left it, and the property of 


Tabby’s Table-Cloth 45 

Daniel Bliss was confiscated by government. 
Some things were sold at auction, and Captain 
Brown bought the fine cloth and gave it to 
Tabby, saying heartily : — 

There, my girl, that belongs to you, and you 
may well be proud of it; for, thanks to your 
quick wits and eyes and ears, we were not taken 
unawares, but sent the red-coats back faster than 
they came.’’ 

And Tabby was proud of it, keeping it care- 
fully, displaying it with immense satisfaction 
whenever she told the story, and spinning busily 
to make a set of napkins tO' go with it. It cov- 
ered the table when her wedding supper was 
spread, was used at the christening of her first 
boy, and for many a Thanksgiving and Christ- 
mas dinner through the happy years of her mar- 
ried life. 

Then it was preserved by her daughters, as a 
relic of their mother’s youth, and long after the 
old woman was gone, the well-worn cloth still 
appeared on great occasions, till it grew too thin 
for anything but careful keeping, to illustrate the 
story so proudly told by the grandchildren, who 
found it hard to believe that the feeble old lady 
of ninety could be the lively lass who played her 
little part in the Revolution with such spirit. 

In 1861, Tabby’s table-cloth saw another war, 
and made an honorable end. When men were 
called for, Concord responded “ Here ! ” and sent 
a goodly number, led by another brave Colonel 


46 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Prescott. Barretts, Hosmers, Melvins, Browns, 
and Wheelers stood shoulder to shoulder, as 
their grandfathers stood that day to meet the 
British by the bridge. Mothers said, “ Go my 
son,” as bravely as before, and sisters and sweet- 
hearts smiled with wet eyes as the boys in blue 
marched away again, cheered on by another 
noble Emerson. More than one of Tabby’s de- 
scendants went, some to fight, some to nurse; 
and for four long years the old town worked and 
waited, hoped and prayed, burying the dear dead 
boys sent home, nursing those who brought back 
honorable wounds, and sending more to man the 
breaches made by the awful battles that filled 
both North and South with a wilderness of 
graves. 

The women knit and sewed Sundays as well 
as week-days, to supply the call for clothes ; the 
men emptied their pockets freely, glad to give; 
and the minister, after preaching like a Christian 
soldier, took off his coat and packed boxes of 
comforts like a tender father. 

‘‘ More lint and bandages called for, and I do 
believe we ’ve torn and picked up every old rag 
in the town,” said one busy lady to another, as 
several sat together making comfort-bags in the 
third year of the long struggle. 

“ I have cleared my garret of nearly every- 
thing in it, and only wish I had more to give,” 
answered one of the patriotic Barrett mothers. 

‘‘We can’t buy anything so soft and good as 


Tabby’s Table-Cloth 47 

worn-out sheets and table-cloths. New ones 
won’t do, or I ’d cut up every one of mine,” said 
a newly married Wheeler, sewing for dear life, 
as she remembered the many cousins gone to the 
war. 

I think I shall have to give our Revolution- 
ary table-cloth. It’s old enough, and soft as 
silk, and I ’m sure my blessed grandmother 
would think that it could n’t make a better end,” 
spoke up white-headed Madam Hubbard; for 
Tabby Tarbell had married one of that numerous 
and worthy race. 

Oh, you would n’t cut up that famous cloth, 
would you ? ” cried the younger woman. 

** Yes, I will. It ’s in rags, and when I ’m 
gone no one will care for it. Folks don’t seem 
to remember what the women did in those days, 
so it ’s no use keeping relics of ’em,” answered 
the old lady, who would have owned herself 
mistaken if she could have looked forward to 
1876, when the town celebrated its centennial, 
and proudly exhibited the little scissors with 
which Mrs. Barrett cut paper for cartridges, 
among other ancient trophies of that earlier day. 

So the ancient cloth was carefully made into 
a boxful of the finest lint and softest squares to 
lay on wounds, and sent to one of the Concord 
women who had gone as a nurse. 

Here ’s a treasure ! ” she said, as she came 
to it among other comforts newly arrived from 
home. “ Just what I want for my brave Rebel 
and poor little Johnny Bullard.” 


48 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

The brave Rebel ” was a Southern man who 
had fought well and was badly wounded in many 
ways, yet never complained; and in the midst 
of great suffering was always so courteous, pa- 
tient, and courageous, that the men called him 
“ our gentleman,” and tried to show how much 
they respected so gallant a foe. John Bullard 
was an English drummer-boy, who had been 
through several battles, stoutly drumming away 
in spite of bullets and cannon-balls; cheering 
many a camp-fire with his voice, for he sang 
like a blackbird, and was always merry, always 
plucky, and so great a favorite in his regiment, 
that all mourned for ‘‘ little Johnny ” when his 
right arm was shot off at Gettysburg. It was 
thought he would die; but he pulled through 
the worst of it, and was slowly struggling back 
to health, still trying to be gay, and beginning 
to chirp feebly now and then, like a convalescent 
bird. 

“ Here, Johnny, is some splendid lint for this 
poor arm', and some of the softest compresses 
for Carrol’s wound. He is asleep, so I ’ll begin 
with you, and while I work I ’ll amuse you with 
the story of the old table-cloth this lint came 
from,” said Nurse Hunt, as she stood by the bed 
where the thin, white face smiled at her, though 
the boy dreaded the hard quarter of an hour he 
had to endure every day. 

“ Thanky, mum. We ’ave n’t ’ad a story for 
a good bit. I ’m ’arty this momin’, and think 
I ’ll be hup by this day week, won’t I ? ” 


Tabby’s Table-Cloth 49 

I hope so. Now shut your eyes and listen; 
then you won’t mind the twinges I give you, gen- 
tle as I try to be,” answered the nurse, beginning 
her painful task. 

Then she told the story of Tabby’s table-cloth, 
and the boy enjoyed it immensely, laughing out 
at the slapping and the throwing water in the 
ensign’s face, and openly rejoicing when the red- 
coats got the worst of it. 

As we ’ve beaten all the rest of the world, 
I don’t mind our ’aving bad luck that time. We 
har’ friends now, and I ’ll fight for you, mum, 
like a British bull-dog, if I hever get the chance,” 
said Johnny, when the tale and dressing were 
ended. 

“ So you shall. I like to turn a brave enemy 
into a faithful friend, as I hope we shall yet be 
able to do with our Southern brothers. I admire 
their courage and their loyalty to what they be- 
lieve to be right, and we are all suffering the 
punishment we deserve for waiting till this sad 
war came, instead of settling the trouble years 
ago, as we might have done if we had loved hon- 
esty and honor more than money and power.” 

As she spoke. Miss Hunt turned to her other 
patient, and saw by the expression of his face 
that he had heard both the tale and the talk. 
He smiled, and said, Good morning,” as usual, 
but when she stooped to lay a compress of the 
soft, wet damask on the angry wound in his 
breast, he whispered, with a grateful look : — 


50 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

You have changed one ‘ Southern brother ’ 
from an enemy into a friend. Whether I live 
or die, I never can forget how generous and 
kind you have all been to me.” 

“ Thank you ! It is worth months of anxiety 
and care to hear such words. Let us shake 
hands, and do our best to make North and South 
as good friends as England and America now 
are,” said the nurse, offering her hand. 

“ Me, too ! I Ve got one ’and left, and I give 
it ye with all me ’art. God bless ye, sir, and a 
lively getting hup for the two of us ! ” cried 
Johnny, stretching across the narrow space that 
divided the beds, with a beaming face and true 
English readiness to forgive a fallen foe when 
he had proved a brave one. 

The threfe hands met in a warm shake, and 
the act was a little lesson more eloquent than 
words to the lookers-on ; for the spirit of broth- 
erhood that should bind us all together worked 
the miracle of linking these three by the frail 
threads spun a century ago. 

So Tabby’s table-cloth did make a beautiful 
and useful end at last. 


ELI’S EDUCATION 


“ yrY turn now,” said Walt, as they as- 
sembled again, after a busy day spent 
in snow-balling, statue-making, and 
tumbling in the drifts that still continued to rise 
on all sides. 

“ Here is just the story for you and Geoff. 
You are getting ready for college, after years 
of the best schooling, and it will do you good 
to hear how hard some boys have had to work 
to get a little learning,” said Grandma, glancing 
at the slip that Walt drew from the basket which 
Aunt Elinor held out to him, and from which 
Lotty had drawn the story of “ Tabby’s Table 
Cloth.” 

“ This is a true tale, and the man became fa- 
mous for his wisdom, as well as much loved and 
honored for his virtue, and interest in all good 
things,” added Aunt Elinor, as she began to read 
the story of 


ELl’s EDUCATION 

Many years ago, a boy of sixteen sat in a 
little room in an old farm-house up among the 
Connecticut hills, writing busily in a book made 


52 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

of odd bits of paper stitched together, with a 
cover formed of two thin boards. The lid of a 
blue chest was his desk, the end of a tallow can- 
dle stuck into a potato was his lamp, a mixture 
of soot and vinegar his ink, and a quill from the 
gray goose his pen. A “ Webster’s Spelling- 
book,” ‘‘ Dilworth’s New Guide to the Eng- 
lish Tongue,” ‘‘ Daboll’s Arithmetic,” and the 
‘‘ American Preceptor,” stood on the chimney- 
piece over his head, with the Assembly Cate- 
chism,” and New Testament, in the place of 
honor. This was his library; and now and then 
a borrowed “ Pilgrim’s Progress,” “ Fox’s Book 
of Martyrs,” or some stray volume, gladdened 
his heart; for he passionately loved books, and 
scoured the neighborhood for miles around to 
feed this steadily increasing hunger. Every 
penny he could earn or save went to buy a song 
or a story from the peddlers who occasionally 
climbed the hill to the solitary farm-house. 
When others took a noon-spell, he read under 
the trees or by the fire. He carried a book in his 
pocket, and studied as he went with the cows to 
and from the pasture, and sat late in his little 
room, ciphering on an old slate, or puzzling his 
young brain over some question which no one 
could answer for him. 

His father had no patience with him, called 
him a shiftless dreamer, and threatened to burn 
the beloved books. But his mother defended 
him, for’ he was her youngest and the pride of 


Eli’s Education 53 

her heart; so she let him scribble all over her 
floors before she scrubbed them up, dipped extra 
thick candles for his use, saved every scrap of 
paper to swell his little store, and firmly believed 
that he would turn out the great man of the 
family. His brothers joked about his queer 
ways, but in his sisters he found firm friends and 
tender comforters for all his woes. So he strug- 
gled along, working on the farm in summer and 
in a clock shop during the winter, with such 
brief spells of schooling as he could get between 
whiles, improving even these poor opportunities 
so well that he was letter-writer for all the young 
people in the neighborhood. 

Now, he was writing in his journal very 
slowly, but very well, shaping his letters with 
unusual grace and freedom; for the wide snow- 
banks were his copy-books in winter, and on 
their white pages he had learned to sweep splen- 
did capitals or link syllables handsomely to- 
gether. This is what he wrote that night, with 
a sparkle in the blue eyes and a firm folding of 
the lips that made the boyish face resolute and 
manly. 

‘‘ I am set in my own mind that I get learning. 

I see not how, but my will is strong, and mother 
hopes for to make a scholar of me. So, please 
God, we shall do it.’’ 

Then he shut the little book and put it care- 
fully away in the blue chest, with pen and ink, 


54 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

as if they were very precious things ; piously said 
his prayers, and was soon asleep under the home- 
spun coverlet, dreaming splendid dreams, while 
a great bright star looked in at the low window, 
as if waiting to show him the road to fortune. 

And God did please to help the patient lad; 
only the next evening came an opportunity he 
had never imagined. As he sat playing “ Over 
the Hills and Far Away ” on the fiddle that he 
had himself made out of maple-wood, with a 
bow strung from the tail of the old farm horse, 
a neighbor came in to talk over the fall pork 
and cider, and tell the news. 

Ef you want ter go over the hills and far 
away, Eli, here ’s the chance. I see a man down 
to Woodtick who was askin' ef I knew any likely 
young chap who 'd like to git 'scribers for a pious 
book he wants to sell. He 'd pay for the job 
when the names is got and the books give out. 
That 's ruther in your line, boy, so I calk'lated 
your daddy would spare you, as you ain't much 
of a hand at shuckin' corn nor cartin' pummace." 

Haw ! haw ! " laughed the big brothers, Am- 
brose Vitruvius and Junius Solomon, as neigh- 
bor Terry spoke with a sly twinkle in his eye. 

But the sisters, Miranda and Pamela, smiled 
for joy, while the good mother stopped her busy 
wheel to listen eagerly. Eli laid down his fiddle 
and came to the hearth where the others sat, with 
such a wide-awake expression on his usually 
thoughtful face that it was plain that he liked the 
idea. 


Eli’s Education 55 

‘‘ I ’ll do it, if father ’ll let me,” he said, look- 
ing wistfully at the industrious man, who was 
shaving axe-handles for the winter wood-chop- 
ping, after his day’s work was over. 

‘‘ Wal, I can spare you for a week, mebby. 
It ’s not time for the clock shop yet, and sence 
you ’ve heerd o’ this, you won’t do your chores 
right, so you may as wal see what you can make 
of peddlin’.” 

“ Thank you, sir ; I ’ll give you all I get, to 
pay for my time,” began Eli, glowing with pleas- 
ure at the prospect of seeing a little of the world ; 
for one of his most cherished dreams wasito cross 
the blue hills that hemmed him in, and find what 
lay beyond. 

** Guess I can afford to give you all you ’ll 
make this trip,” answered his father, in a tone 
that made the brothers laugh again. 

‘‘ Boys, don’t pester Eli. Every one has n’t a 
call to farmin’, and it ’s wal to foller the leadin’s 
of Providence when they come along,” said the 
mother, stroking the smooth, brown head at her 
knee; for Eli always went to her footstool with 
his sorrows and his joys. 

So it was settled, and next day the boy, in his 
home-spun and home-made Sunday best, set off 
to see his employer and secure the job. He got 
it, and for three days trudged up and down the 
steep roads, calling at every house with a sample 
of his book, the Rev. John Flavel’s treatise on 
‘‘ Keeping the Heart.” Eli’s winning face, mod- 


56 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

est manner, and earnest voice served himi well, 
and he got many names; for books were scarce 
in those days, and a pious work was a treasure 
to many a good soul who found it difficult to 
keep the heart strong and cheerful in troublous 
times. 

Then the books were to be delivered, and, anx- 
ious to save his small earnings, Eli hired no 
horse to transport his load, but borrowed a stout, 
green shawl from his mother, and, with his pack 
on his back, marched bravely away to finish his 
task. His wages were spent in a new prayer- 
book for his mother, smart handkerchief-pins for 
the faithful sisters, and a good store of paper 
for himself. 

This trip was so successful that he was seized 
with a strong desire to try a more ambitious and 
extended one; for these glimpses of the world 
showed him how much he had to learn, and how 
pleasantly he could pick up knowledge in these 
flights. 

“What be you a-brewdin’ over now, boy? 
Gettin’ ready for the clock shop? It's 'most 
time for winter work, and Terry says you do 
pretty wal at puttin’ together,” said the farmer, 
a day or two after the boy’s return, as they sat 
at dinner, all helping themselves from the large 
pewter platter heaped with pork and vegetables. 

“ I was wishin’ I could go South with Gad 
Upson. He ’s been twice with clocks and no- 
tions, and wants a mate. Hoadley fits him out 


Eli’s Education 57 

and pays him a good share if he does well. 
Could n’t I go along? I hate that old shop, and 
I know I can do something better than put to- 
gether the insides of cheap clocks.” 

Eli spoke eagerly, and gave his mother an 
imploring look which brought her to second the 
motion at once, her consent having been already 
won. 

The brothers stared as if Eli had proposed to 
go up in a balloon, for to them the South seemed 
farther off than Africa does nowadays. The 
father had evidently been secretly prepared, for 
he showed no surprise, and merely paused a mo- 
ment to look at his ambitious son with a glance 
in which amusement and reproach were mingled. 

When a hen finds she ’s hatched a duck’s 
egg, it ’s no use for her to cackle ; that ducklin’ 
will take to the water in spite on her, and paddle 
off, nobody knows where. Go ahead, boy, and 
when you get enough of junketin’ ’round the 
world, come home and fall to work.” 

Then I may go ? ” cried Eli, upsetting his 
mug of cider in his excitement. 

His father nodded, being too busy eating cab- 
bage with a wide-bladed green-handled knife to 
speak just then. Eli, red and speechless with 
delight and gratitude, could only sit and beam at 
his family till a sob drew his attention to sister 
Pamela, whose pet he was. 

‘‘ Don’t, Pam, don’t ! I ’ll come back all right, 
and bring you news and all the pretty things I 


58 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

can. I must go; I feel as if I could n’t breathe, 
shut up here winters. I s’pose it ’s wicked, but 
I can’t help it,” whispered Eli, with his arm 
around his buxom eighteen-year old sister, who 
laid her head on his shoulder and held him tight. 

Daughter, it ’s sinful to repine at the ways 
of Providence. I see a leadin’ plain in this, and 
ef I can be chirk when my dear boy is goin’, 
’pears to me you ought to keep a taut rein on 
your feelin’s, and not spile his pleasure.” 

The good mother’s eyes were full of tears as 
she spoke, but she caught up the end of her short 
gown and wiped them quickly away to smile on 
Eli, who thanked her with a loving look. 

“ It ’s so lonesome when he ’s not here. What 
will we do evenings without the fiddle, or Eli to 
read a piece in some of his books while we spin ? ” 
said poor Pam, ashamed of her grief, yet glad to 
hide her tears by affecting to settle the long 
wooden bodkin that held up her coils of brown 
hair. 

Obed Finch will be cornin’ along, I guess 
likely, and he ’ll read to you out uv Eli’s book 
about keepin’ the heart, and you ’ll find your ’n 
gone ’fore you know it,” said Junius Solomon, 
in a tone that made pretty Pam blush and run 
away, while the rest laughed at her confusion. 

So it was settled, and when all was ready, the 
boy came home to show his equipment before he 
started. A very modest outfit, — only two tin 
trunks slung across the shoulders, filled with 


Eli’s Education 59 

jewelry, combs, lace, essences, and small wares. 

“ I hate to have ye go, son, but it ’s better than 
to be mopin’ to hum, gettin’ desperut for books 
and rilin’ father. We ’ll all be workin’ for ye, so 
be chipper and do wal. Keep steddy, and don’t 
disgrace your folks. The Lord bless ye, my dear 
boy, and hold ye in the holler of his hand ! ” 

Her own rough hand was on his head as his 
mother spoke, with wet eyes, and the tall lad 
kissed her tenderly, whispering, with a choke in 
his throat : — 

‘‘Good-by, mammy dear; I’ll remember.” 

Then he tramped away to join his mate, turn- 
ing now and then to nod and smile and show a 
ruddy face full of happiness, while the family 
watched him out of sight with mingled hopes and 
doubts and fears. 

Mails were slow in those days, but at length a 
letter came ; and here it is, — a true copy of one 
written by a boy in 1820: — ^ 

“ Norfolk, Va., December 4th. 

“ Honored Parents : I write to inform you 
I am safe here and to work. Our business is 
profitable, and I am fast learning the Quirks and 
Turns of trade. We are going to the eastern 
shore of Va., calculating to be gone six weeks. 
The inhabitants are sociable and hospitable, and 
you need not fear I shall suffer, for I find many 
almost fathers and mothers among these good 
folks. 


6o Spinning-Wheel Stories 

“ Taking our trunks, we travel through the 
country, entering the houses of the rich and poor, 
offering our goods, and earning our wages by 
the sweat of our brows. How do you think we 
look? Like two Awkward, Homespun, Tugging 
Yankee peddlers? No, that is not the case. By 
people of breeding we are treated with politeness 
and gentility, and the low and vulgar we do not 
seek. For my part, I enjoy travelling more than 
I expected. Conversation with new folks, ob- 
serving manners and customs, and seeing the 
world, does me great good. 

‘‘ I never met a real gentleman till I came here. 
Their hospitality allows me to see and copy their 
fine ways of acting and speaking, and they put 
the most Bashful at ease. Gad likes the maids 
and stays in the kitchen most times. I get into 
the libraries and read when we put up nights, and 
the ladies are most kind to me everywhere. 

“ I ’m so tall they can’t believe I ’m only six- 
teen. They are n’t as pretty as our rosy-faced 
girls, but their ways are elegant, and so are their 
clothes, tell Pam. 

‘‘ When I think how kind you were to let me 
come, I am full of gratitude. I made some 
verses, one day, as I waited in a hovel for the 
rain to hold up. 

“ To conduce to my own and parents’ good, 

Was why I left my home ; 

To make their cares and burdens less, 

And try to help them some. 


Eli’s Education 6i 

*T was my own choice to earn them cash, 

And get them free from debt ; 

Before that I am twenty-one 
It shall be done, I bet. 

My parents they have done for me 
What I for them can never do, 

So if I serve them all I may, 

Sure God will help me through. 

My chief delight, therefore, shall be 
To earn them all I can. 

Not only now, but when that I 
At last am my own man. 

These are the genuine Sentiments of your 
son, who returns thanks for the many favors you 
have heaped upon him, and hopes to repay you 
by his best Endeavors. Accept this letter and 
the inclosed small sum as a token of his love 
and respect. 

‘‘ Your dutiful son, 

“ Tell the girls to write. Eli.” 

In reply to this, came a letter from the anxious 
mother, which shows not only the tender, pious 
nature of the good woman, but also how much 
need of education the boy had, and how well he 
was doing for himself : — 

“ Affectionate Son : We was very glad to 
receave your letter. I feal very anctious about 
you this winter, and how you are a doing. You 
cannot know a mother’s concern for her boy 
wen he is fur away. Do not git into bad babbits. 


62 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Take the Bible for your rule and guide to vartue. 
I pray for your prosperity in all spiritall and 
temporrall things, and leave you in the care of 
Him who' gave you breath and will keep you 
safe. 

‘‘We are all well, and your father enjoys his 
helth better than last year. I visited Uncle 
Medad a spell last week. I am provided with 
a horse and shay to ride to meat in. Mr. Eben 
Welton took our cow' and give us his old horse. 
Captain Stephen Harrington was excommuni- 
cated last Sabbath. Pamely goes away to learn 
dressmakin soon. I mistrust Mi randy will take 
up with Fennel Haskell; he is likely, and comes 
frequent. I wish you had been here a Christmas. 
We had a large company to dinner, and I got 
some wheat flower and made a fine chicken pye. 
Eli, I hope you attend meatin when you can. Do 
not trifle away the holy day in vane pleasures, 
but live to the glory of God, and in the fear of 
your parents. Eather sold the white colt. He 
was too spirity, and upsat Ambrose and nigh 
broke his head. His nose is still black. Dear 
son: I miss you every time I set a platter in 
your place. Is your close warm and suflitient? 
Put your stockin round your throat if sore. Do 
you git good cyder to drink? Take the Penny- 
ryal if you feal wimbly after a long spell of travil. 
The girls send love. No more now. Wright 
soon. 

“ Your mother. Hannah Gardener/' 


Eli’s Education 


63 

“ P. S. — Liddy Finch is married. Our pigs 
give us nine hundred pound of prime pork.’’ 

Many such letters went to and fro that win- 
ter, and Eli faithfully reported all his adventures. 
For he had many, and once or twice was in dan- 
ger of losing his life. 

On one occasion, having parted from his mate 
for a day or two, wishing to try his luck alone, 
our young peddler found himself, late in the 
afternoon, approaching the Dismal Swamp. A 
tempest arose, adding to the loneliness and terror 
of the hour. The cypresses uprooted by the blast 
fell now and then across the road, endangering 
the poor boy’s head. A sluggish stream rolled 
through tangled junipers and beds of reeds, and 
the fen on either side was full of ugly creatures, 
lizards, snakes, and toads ; while owls, scared by 
the storm, flew wildly about and hooted dismally. 
Just at the height of the tumult, Eli saw three 
men coming toward him, and gladly hastened to 
meet them, hoping tO' have their company or learn 
of them where he could find a shelter. But their 
bad faces daunted him, and he would have hur- 
ried by without speaking if they had not stopped 
him, roughly demanding his name and business. 

The tall stripling was brave, but his youthful 
face showed him to be but a boy, and the con- 
sciousness of a well-filled purse in his pocket 
made him anxious to escape. So he answered 
briefly, and tried to go on. But two men held 


64 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

him, in spite of his struggles, while the third 
rifled his pockets, broke open his trunks, and took 
all that was of any value in the way of watches 
and jewelry. Then they left him, with a cruel 
joke about a good journey, and made off with 
their booty. It was the first time poor Eli had 
met with such a mishap, and as he stood in the 
rain looking at his wares scattered about the 
road, he felt inclined to throw himself into the 
creek, and forget his woes there among the frogs 
and snakes. But he had a stout heart, and soon 
decided to make the best of it, since nothing 
could be done to mend the matter. Gathering up 
his bedraggled laces, scattered scent-bottles, and 
dirty buttons, pins, and needles, he trudged sadly 
on, feeling that for him this was indeed a Dismal 
Swamp. 

“ I told you we ’d better stick together, but 
you wanted to be so dre’dful smart, and go 
travellin’ off alone in them out ’n the way places. 
Might ’a’ known you ’d get overhauled somers. 
I always did think you was a gump, Eli, and now 
I ’m sure on ’t,” was all the comfort Gad gave 
him when they met, and the direful tale was told. 

“ What shall I do now? ” asked the poor lad. 

My notions are n’t worth selling, and my 
money ’s gone. I ’ll have to pay Hoadley some- 
how.” 

You ’d better foot it home and go to choppin’ 
punkins for the cows, or help your marm spin. 
I vow I never did see such a chap for gettin’ 


Eli’s Education 65 

into a mess,” scolded Gad, who was a true 
Yankee, and made a successful trader, even in 
a small way. 

‘‘ We ’ll sleep on it,” said Eli, gently, and went 
to bed very low in his mind. 

Perhaps a few tears wet his pillow as he lay 
awake, and the prayers his mother taught him 
were whispered in the silence of the night; for 
hope revived, comfort came, and in the morning 
his serene face and sensible plan proved to his 
irate friend that the “ gump ” had a wise head 
and a manly heart, after all. 

Gad, it is just the time for the new almanacs, 
and Allen wants men to sell ’em. I thought it 
was small business before, but beggars must n’t 
be choosers, so I ’m going right off to offer for 
the job ’round here. It will do for a start, and 
if I ’m smart, Allen will give me a better chance 
maybe.” 

‘‘ That ’s a fust-rate plan. Go ahead, and I ’ll 
say a good word for you. Allen knows me, and 
books is in your line, so I guess you ’ll do wal 
if you keep out ’n the mashes,” answered Gad, 
with great good will, having slept off his 
vexation. 

The plan did go well, and for weeks the rosy- 
faced, gentle-voiced youth might have been seen 
mildly offering the new almanacs at doors and 
shops, and at street corners, with a wistful look 
in his blue eyes, and a courtesy of manner that 
attracted many customers and earned many a 


66 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

dollar. Several mates, envying his fine hand- 
writing and pitying his hard luck, took lessons 
in penmanship of him; and paid him fairly, 
whereat he rejoiced over the hours spent at home, 
flat on the kitchen floor, or flourishing splendid 
capitals on the snow-banks, when his nose was 
blue with cold and his hands half-frozen. 

When the season for the yellow-covered alma- 
nacs was over, Eli, having won the confidence 
of his employer, was fitted out with more notions, 
and again set forth on his travels, armed, this 
time, and in company with his townsman. He 
prospered well, and all winter trudged to and 
fro, seemingly a common peddler, but really a 
student, making the world his book, and bent 
on learning all he could. Travel taught him 
geography and history, for he soon knew every 
corner of Virginia ; looked longingly at the 
ancient walls of William and Mary College, 
where Jefferson and Monroe studied; where 
young George Washington received his sur- 
veyor’s commission, and in his later years served 
as Chancellor. In Yorktown, he heard all about 
the siege of 1781; saw Lord Cornwallis’s lodg- 
ings and the cave named for him; met pleasant 
people, whose fine speech and manners he care- 
fully copied; read excellent books wherever he 
could find them, and observed, remembered, and 
stored away all that he saw, heard, and learned, 
to help and adorn his later life. 

By spring he set out for home, having slowly 


Eli’s Education 


67 

saved enough to repay Hoadley for the lost 
goods. But as if Providence meant to teach him 
another lesson, and make him still more prudent, 
humble, and manly, a sad adventure befell him 
on his v^ay. 

While waiting for the coaster that was to take 
them home, he one day went in swimming with 
Gad; for this was one of the favorite pastimes 
of the Connecticut boys, who on Saturday nights 
congregated by the score at a pond called Ben- 
son’s Pot, and leaped from the spring-board like 
circus tumblers, turning somersaults into the 
deep water below. 

It was too early for such sport now; the water 
was very cold, and poor Gad, taken with cramp, 
nearly drowned Eli by clinging to his legs as he 
went down. Freeing himself with difficulty, Eli 
tried to save his friend ; but the current swept the 
helpless man away, and he was lost. Hurriedly 
dressing, Eli ran for aid, but found himself re- 
garded with suspicion by those to whom he told 
his story; for he was a stranger in the place and 
certain peddlers who had gone before had left 
a bad name behind them. 

To his horror, he was arrested, accused of 
murder, and would have been tried for his life, 
if Mr. Allen of Norfolk had not come to testify 
to his good character, and set him. free. Poor 
Gad’s body was found and buried, and after a 
month’s delay, Eli set out again, alone, heavy- 
hearted, and very poor, for all his own little 


68 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

savings had been consumed by various expenses. 
Mr. Hoadley’s money was untouched, but not 
increased, as he hoped to have it; and rather 
than borrow a penny of it, Eli landed barefooted. 
His boots were so old he threw them overboard, 
and spent his last dollar for a cheap pair of shoes 
to wear wTien he appeared at home, for they 
were not stout enough to stand travel. So, like 
Franklin with his rolls, the lad ate crackers and 
cheese as he trudged through the city, and set 
out for the far-away farm-house among the hills. 

A long journey, but a pleasant one, in spite of 
his troubles; for spring made the world lovely, 
habit made walking no hardship, and all he had 
seen in his wanderings passed before him at will, 
like a panorama full of color and variety. 

Letters had gone before, but it was a sad 
home-coming, and when all was told, Eli said : — 

“ Now, father, I ’ll go to work. I ’ve had my 
wish and enjoyed it a sight; and would go again, 
but I feel as if I ought to work, as long as I 
can’t pay for my time.” 

That ’s hearty, son, and I ’m obleeged to ye. 
Hear what mother ’s got to say, and then do 
whichever you prefer,” answered the farmer, 
with a nod toward his wife, who, with the girls, 
seemed full of some pleasant news which they 
longed to tell. 

“ I ’ve sold all the cloth we made last winter 
for a good sum, and father says you may hev 
the spendin’ on ’t. It will be enough to pay your 


Eli’s Education 69 

board down to Uncle Tillotson’s while you study 
with him, so ’s ’t you kin be gettin’ ready for 
college next year. I ’ve sot my heart on ’t, and 
you mus n’t disapp’int me and the girls,” said 
the good woman, with a face full of faith and 
pride in her boy, in spite of all mishaps. 

Oh, mammy, how good you be ! It don’t 
seem as if I ought to take it. But I do want to 
go I ” cried Eli, catching her round the neck in 
an ecstasy of boyish delight and gratitude. 

Here Miranda and Pamela appeared, bringing 
their homely gifts of warm hose, and new shirts 
made from wool and flax grown by the father, 
and spun and woven by the accomplished house- 
wife. 

A very happy youth was Eli when he again 
set off to the city, with his humble outfit and 
slender purse, though father still looked, doubt- 
ful, and the brothers were more sure than ever 
that Eli was a fool to prefer dry book's to country 
work and fun. 

A busy year followed, Eli studying, as never 
boy studied before, with the excellent minister, 
who soon grew proud of his best pupil. Less 
preparation was needed in those days, and per- 
haps more love and industry went to the work; 
for necessity is a stern master, and poor boys 
often work wonders if the spark of greatness is 
there. 

Eli had his wish in time, and went to college, 
mother and sisters making it possible by the sale 


70 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

of their handiwork; for the girls were famous 
spinners, and the mother the best weaver in the 
country around. How willingly they toiled for 
Eli ! — rising early and sitting late, cheering 
their labor with loving talk of the dear lad’s 
progress, and an unfailing faith in his future 
success. Many a long ride did that good mother 
take to the city, miles away, with a great roll of 
cloth on the pillion behind her to sell, that she 
might pay her son’s college bills. Many a cov- 
eted pleasure did the faithful sisters give up 
that they might keep Eli well clothed, or send 
him some country dainty to cheer the studies 
which seemed to them painfully hard and mys- 
teriously precious. Eather began to take pride 
in the ugly duckling now, and brothers to brag 
of his great learning. Neighbors came in to 
hear his letters, and when vacation brought him 
home, the lads and lasses regarded him with a 
certain awe; for his manners were better, his 
language purer, than theirs, and the new life he 
led refined the country boy till he seemed a 
gentleman. 

The second year he yielded to temptation, and 
got into debt. Being anxious to do credit to his 
family, of whom he was secretly a little ashamed 
about this time, he spent money on his clothes, 
conscious that he was a comely youth with a 
great love of beauty, and a longing for all that 
cultivates and embellishes character and life. An 
elegant gentleman astonished the hill folk that 


Eli’s Education 71 

season, by appearing at the little church in a suit 
such as the greatest rustic dandy never imagined 
in his wildest dreams, — the tall white hat with 
rolling brim, Marseilles vest with watch-chain 
and seals festooned across it, the fine blue coat 
with its brass buttons, and the nankeen trousers 
strapped over boots so tight that it was torture 
to walk in them. Armed with a cane in the well- 
gloved hand, an imposing brooch in the frills of 
the linen shirt, Eli sauntered across the green, 
the observed of all observers, proudly hoping 
that the blue eyes of a certain sweet Lucinda 
were fixed admiringly upon him. 

The boys were the first to recover from the 
shock, and promptly resented the transformation 
of their former butt into a city beau, by jeering 
openly and affecting great scorn of the envied 
splendor. The poor jackdaw, somewhat abashed 
at the effect of his plumes, tried to prove that 
he felt no superiority, by being very affable, 
which won the lasses, but failed to soften the 
hearts of the boys; and when he secured the 
belle of the village for the Thanksgiving drive 
and dance, the young men resolved that pride 
should have a fall. 

Arrayed in all his finery, Eli drove pretty 
Lucinda in a smart borrowed wagon to the 
tavern where the dance was held. Full of the 
airs and graces he had learned at college, the 
once bashful, awkward Eli was the admired of 
all eyes, as he pranced down the long contra- 


72 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

dance in the agonizing boots, or played thread- 
ing the needle without the least reluctance on 
the part of the blushing girls to pay the fine of 
a kiss when the players sung the old rhyme : — 

“ The needle’s eye no one can pass ; 

The thread that runs so true — 

It has caught many a pretty lass, 

And now it has caught you.” 

But his glory was short-lived ; for some enemy 
maliciously drew out the linchpin from the smart 
wagon, and as they were gayly driving home- 
ward over the hills, the downfall came, and out 
they both went, to the great damage of Eli’s city 
suit, and poor Lucinda’s simple finery. 

Fortunately, no bones were broken, and pick- 
ing themselves up, they sadly footed it home, 
hoping the mishap would remain unknown. But 
the rogues took care that Eli should not escape, 
and the whole neighborhood laughed over the 
joke; for the fine hat was ruined, and the costly 
coat split down the back, in the ignominious 
tumble. 

Great was the humiliation of the poor student ; 
for not only was he ridiculed, but Lucinda would 
not forgive him, and the blue eyes smiled upon 
another; worst of all, he had to confess his debts 
and borrow money of his father to pay them. 
He meekly bore the stern rebuke that came with 
the hard-earned dollars, but the sight of the tears 


Eli’s Education 73 

his mother shed, even while she comforted him, 
filled him with remorse. He went back to his 
books, in a homespun suit, a sadder and a wiser 
boy, and fell to work as if resolved to wash out 
past errors and regain the confidence he had lost. 

All that winter the wheels turned and the loom 
jangled, that the rolls of cloth might be in- 
creased; and never was the day too cold, the 
way too long, for the good mother’s pious pil- 
grimage. 

That summer, a man came home to them, 
shabby enough as to his clothes, but so wonder- 
fully improved in other ways, that not only did 
the women folk glow with tender pride, but 
father and brothers looked at him with respect, 
and owned at last there was something in Eli. 
“No vacation for me,” he said; “I must work 
to pay my debts; and as I am not of much use 
here, I ’ll try my old plan, and peddle some 
money into my empty pockets.” 

It was both comic and pathetic to see the 
shoulders that had worn the fine broadcloth bur- 
dened with a yoke, the hands that had worn kid 
gloves grasping the tin trunks, and the dapper 
feet trudging through dust and dew in cow-hide 
boots. But the face under the old straw hat was 
a manlier one than that which the tall beaver 
crowned, and the heart under the rough vest was 
far happier than when the gold chain glittered 
above it. He did so well that when he returned 
tO' college his debts were paid, and the family 
faith in Eli restored. 


74 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

That was an eventful year; for one brother 
married, and one went off to seek his fortune, 
the father mortgaging his farm to give these 
sons a fair start in life. Eli was to be a minister, 
and the farmer left his fortunes in the hands of 
his wife, who, like many another good mother, 
was the making of the great man O'f the family, 
and was content with that knowledge, leaving 
him the glory. 

The next year, Eli graduated with honor, and 
went home, to be received with great rejoicing, 
just twenty-one, and a free man. He had longed 
for this time, and planned a happy, studious life, 
preparing to preach the gospel in a little par- 
sonage of his own. But suddenly all was 
changed; joy turned to sorrow, hope to doubt, 
and Eli was called to relinquish liberty for duty, 
— to give up his own dreams of a home, to keep 
a roof over the heads of the dear mother and the 
faithful sisters. His father died suddenly, leav- 
ing very little for the women folk besides the 
independence that lay in the skill of their own 
thrifty hands. The elder brothers could not offer 
much help, and Eli was the one to whom the 
poor souls turned in their hour of sorrow and 
anxiety. 

“ Go on, dear, and don’t pester yourself about 
us. We can find food and firin’ here as long as 
the old farm is ours. I guess we can manage 
to pay off the mortgage by-and-by. It don’t 
seem as if I could turn out, after livin’ here ever 


Eli’s Education 


75 

sense I was married, and poor father so fond 
on ’t.” 

The widow covered her face with her apron, 
and Eli put his arms about her, saying manfully, 
as he gave up all his fondest hopes for her dearer 
sake : — 

‘‘ Cheer up, mother, and trust to me. I should 
be a poor fellow if I allowed you and the girls 
to want, after all you Ve done for me. I can 
get a school, and earn instead of spend. Teach- 
ing and studying can go on together. I ’m sure 
I should n’t prosper if I shirked my duty, and 
I won’t.” The three sad women clung to him, 
and the brothers, looking at his brave, bright 
face, felt that Eli was indeed a man to lean on 
and to love in times like this. 

Well,” thought the young philosopher, the 
Lord knows what is best for me, and perhaps 
this is a part of my education. I ’ll try to think 
so, and hope to get some good out of a hard 
job.” 

In this spirit he set about teaching, and pros- 
pered wonderfully, for his own great love of 
learning made it an easy and delightful task to 
help others as he had longed to be helped. His 
innocent and tender nature made all children love 
him', and gave him a remarkable power over 
them; so when the first hard months were past, 
and his efforts began to bear fruit, he found that 
what had seemed an affliction was a blessing, 
and that teaching was his special gift. Filial 


76 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

duty sweetened the task, a submissive heart found 
happiness in self-sacrifice, and a wise soul showed 
him what a noble and lovely work it was to min- 
ister to little children, — for of such is the king- 
dom of heaven. 

For years Eli taught, and his school grew 
famous; for he copied the fashions of other 
countries, invented new methods, and gave him- 
self so entirely to his profession that he could 
not fail of success. The mortgage was paid off, 
and Eli made frequent pilgrimages to the dear 
old mother, whose staff and comfort he still was. 
The sisters married well, the brothers prospered, 
and at thirty, the schoolmaster found a nobler 
mate than pretty Lucinda, and soon had some 
little pupils of his very own to love and teach. 

There his youth ends; but after the years of 
teaching he began to preach at last, not in one 
pulpit, but in many all over the land, diffusing 
good thoughts now as he had peddled small wares 
when a boy ; still learning as he went, still loving 
books and studying mankind, still patient, pious, 
dutiful, and tender, a wise and beautiful old man, 
till, at eighty, Eli’s education ended. 


ONAWANDAH 


W HAT in the world have I chosen ? ’’ 
exclaimed Geoff, as he drew out a 
manuscript in his turn and read the 
queer name. 

A story that will just suit you, I think. The 
hero is an Indian, and a brave one, as you will 
see. I learned the little tale from an old woman 
who lived in the valley of the Connecticut, which 
the Indians called the Long River of Pines.'^ 
With this very short preface. Aunt Elinor be- 
gan to read, in her best manner, the story of 

ONAWANDAH 

Long ago, — when hostile Indians haunted the 
great forests, and every settlement had its fort 
for the protection of the inhabitants, — in one 
of the towns on the Connecticut River, lived Par- 
son Bain and his little son and daughter. The 
wife and mother was dead; but an old servant 
took care of them, and did her best to make 
Reuben and Eunice good children. Her direst 
threat, when they were naughty, was, ‘‘ The 
Indians will come and fetch you, if you don’t 


7 8 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

behave.” So they grew up in great fear of the 
red men. Even the friendly Indians, who some- 
times came for food or powder, were regarded 
with suspicion by the people. No man went to 
work without his gun near by. On Sundays, 
when they trudged to the rude meeting-house, 
all carried the trusty rifle on the shoulder; and 
while the pastor preached, a sentinel mounted 
guard at the door, to give warning if canoes 
came down the river or a dark face peered from 
the wood. 

One autumn night, when the first heavy rains 
were falling and a cold wind whistled through 
the valley, a knock came at the minister’s door, 
and, opening it, he found an Indian boy, ragged, 
hungry, and foot-sore, who begged for food and 
shelter. In his broken way, he told how he had 
fallen ill, and been left to die by enemies who 
had taken him from his own people, months be- 
fore; how he had wandered for days till almost 
sinking; and that he had come now to ask for 
help, led by the hospitable light in the parsonage 
window. 

‘‘ Send him away, master, or harm will come 
of it. He is a spy, and we shall all be scalped 
by the murdering Injuns who are waiting in the 
wood,” said old Becky, harshly; while little 
Eunice hid in the old servant’s ample skirts, and 
twelve-year-old Reuben laid his hand on his 
cross-bow, ready to defend his sister if need be. 

But the good man drew the poor lad in, say- 


Onawandah 


79 

ingf, with his friendly smile : Shall not a Chris- 
tian be as hospitable as a godless savage ? Come 
in, child, and be fed; you sorely need rest and 
shelter/' 

Leaving his face to express the gratitude he 
had no words to tell, the boy sat by the comfort- 
able fire and ate like a famished wolf, while Becky 
muttered her forebodings . and the children eyed 
the dark youth at a safe distance. Something 
in his pinched face, wounded foot, and eyes full 
of dumb pain and patience, touched the little 
girl’s tender heart, and, yielding to a pitiful im- 
pulse, she brought her own basin of new milk 
and, setting it beside the stranger, ran to hide 
behind her father, suddenly remembering that 
this was one of the dreaded Indians. 

“ That was well done, little daughter. Thou 
shalt love thine enemies, and share thy bread 
with the needy. See, he is smiling; that pleased 
him, and he wishes us to be his friends.” 

But Eunice ventured no more that night, and 
quaked in her little bed at the thought of the 
strange boy sleeping on a blanket before the fire 
below. Reuben hid his fears better, and resolved 
to watch while others slept; but was off as soon 
as his curly head touched the pillow, and dreamed 
of tomahawks and war-whoops till morning. 

Next day, neighbors came to see the waif, and 
one and all advised sending him away as soon 
as possible, since he was doubtless a spy, as Becky 
said, and would bring trouble of some sort. 


8o Spinning-Wheel Stories 

‘‘ When he is well, he may go whithersoever 
he will; but while he is too lame to walk, weak 
with hunger, and worn out with weariness, I 
will harbor him. He cannot feign suffering and 
starvation like this, I shall do my duty, and 
leave the consequences to the Lord,’' answered 
the parson, with such pious firmness that the 
neighbors said no more. 

But they kept a close watch upon Onawandah, 
when he went among them, silent and submissive, 
but with the proud air of a captive prince, and 
sometimes a fierce flash in his black eyes when 
the other lads taunted him with his red skin. 
He was very lame for weeks, and could only sit 
in the sun, weaving pretty baskets for Eunice, 
and shaping bows and arrows for Reuben. The 
children were soon his friends, for with them he 
was always gentle, trying in his soft language 
and expressive gestures to show his good-will 
and gratitude; for they defended him against 
their ruder playmates, and, following their 
father’s example, trusted and cherished the home- 
less youth. 

When he was able to walk, he taught the boy 
to shoot and trap the wild creatures of the wood, 
to find fish where others failed, and to guide him- 
self in the wilderness by star and sun, wind and 
water. To Eunice he brought little offerings of 
bark and feathers; taught her to make moccasins 
of skin, belts of shells, or pouches gay with por- 
cupine quills and colored grass. He would not 


Onawandah 


8i 


work for old Becky, — who plainly showed her 
distrust, — saying- : '' A brave does not grind 
corn and bring wood; that is squaw’s work. 
Onawandah will hunt and fish and fight for you, 
but no more.” And even the request of the par- 
son could not win obedience in this, though the 
boy would have died for the good man. 

“We can not tame an eagle as we can a barn- 
yard fowl. Let him remember only kindness of 
us, and so we turn a foe into a friend,” said 
Parson Bain, stroking the sleek, dark head, that 
always bowed before him, with a docile reverence 
shown to no other living creature. 

Winter came, and the settlers fared hardly 
through the long months, when the drifts rose 
to the eaves of their low cabins, and the stores, 
carefully harvested, failed to supply even their 
simple wants. But the minister’s family never 
lacked wild meat, for Onawandah proved himself 
a better hunter than any man in the town; and 
the boy of sixteen led the way on his snow-shoes 
when they went to track a bear to its den, chase 
the deer for miles, or shoot the wolves that 
howled about their homes in the winter nights. 

But he never joined in their games, and sat 
apart when the young folk made merry, as if he 
scorned such childish pastimes and longed to be 
a man in all things. Why he stayed when he was 
well again, no one could tell, unless he waited for 
spring to make his way to his own people. But 
Reuben and Eunice rejoiced to keep him; for 


82 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

while he taught them many things, he was their 
pupil also, learning English rapidly, and proving 
himself a very affectionate and devoted friend 
and servant, in his own quiet way. 

Be of good cheer, little daughter ; I shall be 
gone but three days, and our brave Onawandah 
will guard you well,” said the parson, one April 
morning, as he mounted his horse to visit a dis- 
tant settlement, where the bitter winter had 
brought sickness and death to more than one 
household. 

The boy showed his white teeth in a bright 
smile as he stood beside the children, while Becky 
croaked, with a shake of the head : — 

“ I hope you may n’t find you ’ve warmed a 
viper in your bosom, master.” 

Two days later, it seemed as if Becky was a 
true prophet, and that the confiding minister had 
been terribly deceived ; for Onawandah went 
away to hunt, and that night the awful war- 
whoop woke the sleeping villagers, to find their 
houses burning, while the hidden Indians shot 
at them by the light of the fires kindled by dusky 
scouts. In terror and confusion the whites flew 
to the fort; and, while the men fought bravely, 
the women held blankets to catch arrows and 
bullets, or bound up the hurts of their defend- 
ers. 

It was all over by daylight, and the red men 
sped away up the river, with several prisoners, 
and such booty as they could plunder from the 


Onawandah 


83 

deserted houses. Not till all fear of a return of 
their enemies was over, did the poor people ven- 
ture to leave the fort and seek their ruined homes. 
Then it was discovered that Becky and the par- 
son’s children were gone, and great was the be- 
wailing, for the good man was much beloved by 
all his flock. 

Suddenly the smothered voice of Becky was 
heard by a party of visitors, calling dolefully : — 

‘‘ I am here, betwixt the beds. Pull me out, 
neighbors, for I am half dead with fright and 
smothering.” 

The old woman was quickly extricated from 
her hiding-place, and with much energy declared 
that she had seen Onawandah, disguised with 
war-paint, among the Indians, and that he had 
torn away the children from her arms before she 
could fly from the house. 

“ He chose his time well, when they were 
defenceless, dear lambs! Spite of all my warn- 
ings, master trusted him, and this is the thanks 
we get. Oh, my poor master! How can I tell 
him this heavy news? ” 

There was no need to tell it; for, as Becky 
sat moaning and beating her breast on the fire- 
less hearth, and the sympathizing neighbors stood 
about her, the sound of a horse’s hoofs was 
heard, and the parson came down the hilly road 
like one riding for his life. He had seen the 
smoke afar off, guessed the sad truth, and hur- 
ried on, to find his home in ruins, and to learn 


84 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

by his first glance at the faces around him that 
his children were gone. 

When he had heard all there was to tell, he 
sat down upon his door-stone with his head in 
his hands, praying for strength to bear a grief 
too deep for words. The wounded and weary 
men tried to comfort him with hope, and the 
women wept with him as they hugged their own 
babies closer to the hearts that ached for the lost 
children. Suddenly a stir went through the 
mournful group, as Onawandah came from the 
wood with a young deer upon his shoulders, and 
amazement in his face as he saw the desolation 
before him. Dropping his burden, he stood an 
instant looking with eyes that kindled fiercely; 
then he came bounding toward them, undaunted 
by the hatred, suspicion, and surprise plainly 
written on the countenances before him. He 
missed his playmates, and asked but one 
question : — 

“ The boy, the little squaw, — where gone ? ” 

His answer was a rough one, for the men 
seized him and poured forth the tale, heaping 
reproaches upon him for such treachery and in- 
gratitude. He bore it all in proud silence till 
they pointed to the poor father, whose dumb sor- 
row was more eloquent than all their wrath. 
Onawandah looked at him, and the fire died out 
of his eyes as if quenched by the tears he would 
not shed. Shaking off the hands that held him, 
he went to his good friend, saying with passion- 
ate earnestness : — 


Onawandah 


85 

“ Onawandah is not traitor ! Onawandah re- 
members! Onawandah grateful! You believe? 

The poor parson looked up at him, and could 
not doubt his truth ; for genuine love and sorrow 
ennobled the dark face, and he had never known 
the boy to lie. 

I believe and trust you still, but others will 
not. Go, you are no longer safe here, and I have 
no home to offer you,” said the parson, sadly, 
feeling that he cared for none, unless his chil- 
dren were restored to him. 

“ Onawandah has no fear. He goes ; but he 
comes again to bring the boy, the little squaw.” 

Few words, but they were so solemnly spoken 
that the most unbelieving were impressed; for 
the youth laid one hand on the gray head bowed 
before him, and lifted the other toward heaven, 
as if calling the Great Spirit to hear his vow. 

A relenting murmur went through the crowd, 
but the boy paid no heed, as he turned away, and 
with no arms but his hunting knife and bow, no 
food but such as he could find, no guide but the 
sun by day, the stars by night, plunged into the 
pathless forest and was gone. 

Then the people drew a long breath, and mut- 
tered to one another : — 

“ He will never do it, yet he is a brave lad 
for his years.” 

‘‘ Only a shift to get off with a whole skin, I 
warrant you. These varlets are as cunning as 
foxes,” added Becky, sourly. 


86 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

The parson alone believed and hoped, though 
weeks and months went by, and his children did 
not come. 

Meantime, Reuben and Eunice were far away 
in an Indian camp, resting as best they could, 
after the long journey that followed that dread- 
ful night. Their captors were not cruel to them, 
for Reuben was a stout fellow, and, thanks to 
Onawandah, could hold his own with the boys 
who would have tormented him if he had been 
feeble or cowardly. Eunice also was a hardy 
creature for her years, and when her first fright 
and fatigue were over, made herself useful in 
many ways among the squaws, who did not let 
the pretty child suffer greatly; though she was 
neglected, because they knew no better. 

Life in a wigwam was not a life of ease, and 
fortunately the children were accustomed to sim- 
ple habits and the hardships that all endured in 
those early times. But they mourned for home 
till their young faces were pathetic with the long- 
ing, and their pillows of dry leaves were often 
wet with tears in the night. Their clothes grew 
ragged, their hair unkempt, their faces tanned 
by sun and wind. Scanty food and exposure to 
all weathers tried the strength of their bodies, 
and uncertainty as to their fate saddened their 
spirits; yet they bore up bravely, and said their 
prayers faithfully, feeling sure that God would 
bring them home to father in His own good 
time. 


Onawandah 8 7 

One day, when Reuben was snaring birds in 
the wood, — for the Indians had no fear of such 
young children venturing to escape, — he heard 
the cry of a quail, and followed it deeper and 
deeper into the forest, till it ceased, and, with a 
sudden rustle, Onawandah rose up from the 
brakes, his finger on his lips to prevent any ex- 
clamation that might betray him to other ears 
and eyes. 

“ I come for you and little Laroka ’’ (the 
name he gave Eunice, meaning ‘‘Wild Rose”). 
“ I take you home. Not know me yet. Go and 
wait.” 

He spoke low and fast ; but the joy in his face 
told how glad he was to find the boy after his 
long search, and Reuben clung to him, trying not 
to disgrace himself by crying like a girl, in his 
surprise and delight. 

Lying hidden in the tall brakes they talked in 
whispers, while one told of the capture, and the 
other of a plan of escape; for, though a friendly 
tribe, these Indians were not Onawandah’s peo- 
ple, and they must not suspect that he knew the 
children, else they might be separated at once. 

“ Little squaw betray me. You watch her. 
Tell her not to cry out, not speak me any time. 
When I say come, we go — fast — in the night. 
Not ready yet.” 

These were the orders Reuben received, and, 
when he could compose himself, he went back 
to the wigwams, leaving his friend in the wood. 


88 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

while he told the good news to Eunice, and pre- 
pared her for the part she must play. 

Fear had taught her self-control, and the poor 
child stood the test well, working off her relief 
and rapture by pounding corn on the stone mor- 
tar till her little hands were blistered, and her 
arms ached for hours afterward. 

Not till the next day did Onawandah make 
his appearance, and then he came limping into 
the village, weary, lame, and half starved, after 
his long wandering in the wilderness. He was 
kindly welcomed, and his story believed; for he 
told only the first part, and said nothing of his 
life among the white men. He hardly glanced 
at the children when they were pointed out to 
him by their captors, and scowled at poor Eunice, 
who forgot her part in her joy, and smiled as 
she met the dark eyes that till now had always 
looked kindly at her. A touch from Reuben 
warned her, and she was glad to hide her con- 
fusion by shaking her long hair over her face, 
as if afraid of the stranger. 

Onawandah took no further notice of them, 
but seemed to be very lame with the old wound 
in his foot, which prevented his being obliged to 
hunt with the men. He was resting and slowly 
gathering strength for the hard task he had set 
himself, while he waited for a safe time to save 
the children. They understood, but the suspense 
proved too much for little Eunice, and she pined 
with impatience to be gone. She lost appetite 


Onawandah 


91 

Twice he saved their lives. Once, when he 
went in search of food, leaving Reuben to guard 
his sister, the children, being very hungry, igno- 
rantly ate some poisonous berries which looked 
like wild cherries, and were deliciously sweet. 
The boy generously gave most of them to 
Eunice, and soon was terror-stricken to see her 
grow pale, and cold, and deathly ill. Not know- 
ing what to do, he could only rub her hands and 
call wildly for Onawandah. 

The name echoed through the silent wood, 
and, though far away, the keen ear of the Indian 
heard it, his fleet feet brought him back in time, 
and his knowledge of wild roots and herbs made 
it possible to save the child when no other help 
was at hand. 

“ Make fire. Keep warm. I soon come,^^ he 
said, after hearing the story and examining 
Eunice, who could only lift her eyes to him, full 
of childish confidence and patience. 

Then he was off again, scouring the woods 
like a hound on the scent, searching everywhere 
for the precious little herb that would counteract 
the poison. Any one watching him would have 
thought him crazy, as he rushed hither and 
thither, tearing up the leaves, creeping on his 
hands and knees that it might not escape him, 
and when he found it, springing up with a cry 
that startled the birds, and carried hope to poor 
Reuben, who was trying to forget his own pain 
in his anxiety for Eunice, whom he thought 
dying. 


92 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Eat, eat, while I make drink. All safe now,’' 
cried Onawandah, as he came leaping toward 
them with his hands full of green leaves, and 
his dark face shining with joy. 

The boy was soon relieved, but for hours they 
hung over the girl, who suffered sadly, till she 
grew unconscious and lay as if dead. Reuben’s 
courage failed then, and he cried bitterly, think- 
ing how hard it would be to leave the dear little 
creature under the pines and go home alone to 
father. Even Onawandah lost hope for a while, 
and sat like a bronze statue of despair, with his 
eyes fixed on his Wild Rose, who seemed fading 
away too soon. 

Suddenly he rose, stretched his arms to the 
west, where the sun was setting splendidly, and 
in his own musical language prayed to the Great 
Spirit. The Christian boy fell upon his knees, 
feeling that the only help was in the Father who 
saw and heard them even in the wilderness. 
Both were comforted, and when they turned to 
Eunice there was a faint tinge of color on the 
pale cheeks, as if the evening red kissed her; the 
look of pain was gone, and she slept quietly, with- 
out the moans that had made their hearts ache 
before. 

“ He hears ! he hears ! ” cried Onawandah, and 
for the first time Reuben saw tears in his keen 
eyes, as the Indian boy turned his face to the 
sky, full of a gratitude that no words were sweet 
enough to tell. 


Onawandah 


93 

All night Eunice lay peacefully sleeping, and 
the moon lighted Onawandah’s lonely watch, for 
Reuben was worn out with suspense, and slept 
beside his sister. 

In the morning she was safe, and great was 
the rejoicing; but for two days the little invalid 
was not allowed to continue the journey, much 
as they longed to hurry on. It was a pretty 
sight, the bed of hemlock boughs spread under 
a green tent of woven branches, and on the 
pillow of moss the pale child watching the flicker 
of sunshine through the leaves, listening to the 
babble of a brook close by, or sleeping tranquilly, 
lulled by the murmur of the pines. Patient, lov- 
ing, and grateful, it was a pleasure to serve her, 
and both the lads were faithful nurses. Ona- 
wandah cooked birds for her to eat, and made a 
pleasant drink of the wild-raspberry leaves to 
quench her thirst. Reuben snared rabbits, that 
she might have nourishing food, and longed to 
shoot a deer for provision, that she might not 
suffer hunger again on their journey. This boy- 
ish desire led him deeper into the wood than it 
was wise for him to go alone, for it was near 
nightfall, and wild creatures haunted the forest 
in those days. The fire, which Onawandah kept 
constantly burning, guarded their little camp 
where Eunice lay; but Reuben, with no weapon 
but his bow and hunting knife, was beyond this 
protection when he at last gave up his vain hunt 
and turned homeward. Suddenly, the sound of 


94 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

stealthy steps startled him, but he could see 
nothing through the dusk at first, and hurried 
on, fearing that some treacherous Indian was 
following him. Then he remembered his sister, 
and resolved not to betray her resting-place if 
he could help it, for he had learned courage of 
Onawandah, and longed to be as brave and gen- 
erous as his dusky hero. 

So he paused to watch and wait, and soon saw 
the gleam of two fiery eyes, not behind, but 
above him, in a tree. Then he knew that it was 
an Indian devil,” as they called a species of 
fierce animal that lurked in the thickets and 
sprang on its prey like a small tiger. 

'‘If I could only kill it alone, how proud 
Onawandah would be of me,” thought Reuben, 
burning for the good opinion of his friend. 

It would have been wiser to hurry on and give 
the beast no time to spring ; but the boy was over 
bold, and, fitting an arrow to the string, aimed 
at the bright eye-ball and let fly. A sharp snarl 
showed that some harm was done, and, rather 
daunted by the savage sound, Reuben raced 
away, meaning to come back next day for the 
prize he hoped he had secured. 

But soon he heard the creature bounding after 
him, and he uttered one ringing shout for help, 
feeling too late that he had been foolhardy. For- 
tunately, he was nearer camp than he thought. 
Onawandah heard him, and was there in time 
to receive the beast, as, mad with the pain of the 


Onawandah 


95 

wound, it Sprung at Reuben. There was no time 
for words, and the boy could only watch in 
breathless interest and anxiety the fight which 
went on between the brute and the Indian. 

It was sharp but short; for Onawandah had 
his knife, and as soon as he could get the snarl- 
ing, struggling creature down, he killed it with 
a skilful stroke. But not before it had torn and 
bitten him more dangerously than he knew; for 
the dusk hid the wounds, and excitement kept 
him from feeling them at first. Reuben thanked 
him heartily, and accepted his few words of 
warning with grateful docility; then both hur- 
ried back to Eunice, who till next day knew 
nothing of her brother’s danger. 

Onawandah made light of his scratches, as he 
called them, got their supper, and sent Reuben 
early to bed, for to-morrow they were to start 
again. 

Excited by his adventure, the boy slept lightly, 
and waking in the night, saw by the flicker of 
the fire Onawandah binding up a deep wound in 
his breast with wet moss and his own belt. A 
stifled groan betrayed how much he suffered ; but 
when Reuben went to him, he would accept no 
help, said it was nothing, and sent him back to 
bed, preferring to endure the pain in stern silence, 
with true Indian pride and courage. 

Next morning, they set out and pushed on as 
fast as Eunice’s strength allowed. But it was 
evident that Onawandah suffered much, though 


96 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

he would not rest, forbade the children to speak 
of his wounds, and pressed on with feverish 
haste, as if he feared that his strength might 
not hold out. Reuben watched him anxiously, 
for there was a look in his face that troubled the 
boy and filled him with alarm, as well as with 
remorse and love. Eunice would not let him 
carry her as before, but trudged bravely behind 
him, though her feet ached and her breath often 
failed as she tried to keep up; and both children 
did all they could to comfort and sustain their 
friend, who seemed glad to give his life for 
them. 

In three days they reached the river, and, as 
if Heaven helped them in their greatest need, 
found a canoe, left by some hunter, near the 
shore. In they sprang, and let the swift current 
bear them along, Eunice kneeling in the bow 
like a little figure-head of Hope, Reuben steering 
with his paddle, and Onawandah sitting with 
arms tightly folded over his breast, as if to con- 
trol the sharp anguish of the neglected wound. 
He knew that it was past help now, and only 
cared to see the children safe; then, worn out 
but happy, he was proud to die, having paid his 
debt to the good parson, and proved that he was 
not a liar nor a traitor. 

Hour after hour they floated down the great 
river, looking eagerly for signs of home, and 
when at last they entered the familiar valley, 
while the little girl cried for joy, and the boy 


Onawandah 


97 

paddled as he had never done before, Onawandah 
sat erect, with his haggard eyes fixed on the dim 
distance, and sang his death-song in a clear, 
strong voice, — though every breath was pain, 
— bent on dying like a brave, without complaint 
or fear. 

At last they saw the smoke from the cabins 
on the hillside, and, hastily mooring the canoe, 
all sprang out, eager to be at home after their 
long and perilous wandering. But as his foot 
touched the land, Onawandah felt that he could 
do no more, and stretching his arms toward the 
parsonage, the windows of which glimmered as 
hospitably as they had done when he first saw 
them, he said, with a pathetic sort of triumph 
in his broken voice: Go. I cannot. Tell the 
good father, Onawandah not lie, not forget. He 
keep his promise.” 

Then he dropped upon the grass and lay as if 
dead, while Reuben, bidding Eunice keep watch, 
ran as fast as his tired legs could carry him to 
tell the tale and bring help. 

The little girl did her part tenderly, carrying 
water in her hands to wet the white lips, tearing 
up her ragged skirt to lay fresh bandages on the 
wound that had been bleeding the brave boy’s 
life away, and, sitting by him, gathered his head 
into her arms, begging him to wait till father 
came. 

But poor Onawandah had waited too long; 
now he could only look up into the dear, loving, 


g8 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

little face bent over him, and whisper wistfully: 
‘‘Wild Rose will remember Onawandah?” as 
the light went out of his eyes, and his last breath 
was a smile for her. 

When the parson and his people came hurry- 
ing up full of wonder, joy, and good-will, they 
found Eunice weeping bitterly, and the Indian 
boy lying like a young warrior smiling at death. 

“ Ah, rny neighbors, the savage has taught us 
a lesson we never can forget. Let us imitate his 
virtues, and do honor to his. memory,” said the 
pastor, as he held his little daughter close and 
looked down at the pathetic figure at his feet, 
whose silence was more eloquent than any words. 

All felt it, and even old Becky had a remorse- 
ful sigh for the boy who had kept his word so 
well and given back her darlings safe. 

They buried him where he lay; and for years 
the lonely mound under the great oak was kept 
green by loving hands. Wild roses bloomed 
there, and the murmur of the Long River of 
Pines was a fit lullaby for faithful Onawandah. 


LITTLE THINGS 


“f I THAT’S the sort I like,” said Geoff, as 
I the story ended ; ‘‘ Onawandah was a 
trump, and I M give a good deal to 
know such a fellow, and go hunting with him. 
Got any more like it, aunty ? ” 

“ Perhaps; but it is the girls’ turn now, and 
here is a quiet little story that teaches the same 
lesson in a different way. It contains a hint 
which some of you would better take and Aunt 
Elinor glanced around the circle with a smile 
that set her hearers on the alert to see who was 
to be hit. 

“ Hope it is n’t very moral,” said Geoff, with 
a boyish dislike of being preached at. 

“ It won’t harm you to listen, and take the 
moral to heart, my lad. Wild horses, gold mines, 
and sea scrapes, are not the only things worth 
reading about. If you ever do half so much 
good in the world as the people in this story did, 
I shall be proud of you,” answered Aunt Elinor, 
so soberly that Geoff folded his hands, and tried 
to look meekly impressed. 


lOO Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Is it true? ” asked Min. 

‘‘ Yes. I heard ' Abby ’ tell it herself, and saw 
the silk stocking, and the scar.” 

That sounds very interesting. I do like to 
hear about good clothes and awful accidents,” 
cried the girl, forgetting to spin, in her eagerness 
to listen. 

They all laughed at her odd mixture of tastes, 
and then heard the story of 

LITTLE THINGS 

Abigail sat reading Rasselas ” aloud to her 
father while he shaved, pausing now and then 
to explain a word or correct the girl’s pronunci- 
ation ; for this was a lesson, as well as a pleasure. 
The handsome man, in his nankin dressing-gown, 
ruffled shirt, black small-clothes, and silk stock- 
ings, stood before the tall, old-fashioned bureau, 
looking often from the reflection of his own 
ruddy face to the pale one beside him, with an 
expression of tender pride, which plainly showed 
how dear his young daughter was to him. 

Abby was a slender girl of fifteen, in a short- 
waisted gingham gown, with a muslin tucker, 
dimity apron, and morocco shoes on a pair of 
small feet demurely crossed before her. A blue- 
eyed, brown-haired little creature, with a broad 
brow, and a sweet mouth, evidently both intelli- 
gent and affectionate; for she heartily enjoyed 
the story, and answered her^ father’s approving 


lOI 


Little Things 

glances with a face full of the loving reverence 
so beautiful to see. 

Schools were not abundant in 1815; and, after 
learning to read, spell, sew, and cipher a little 
at some dame school, girls were left to pick up 
knowledge as they could ; while the brothers went 
to college, or were apprenticed to some trade. 
But the few things they did study were well 
learned; so that Abby’s reading was a pleasure 
to hear. She wrote a fine, clear hand, seldom 
misspelled a word, kept her own little account- 
book in good order, and already made her father’s 
shirts, hemstitching the linen cambric ruffles with 
the daintiest skill, and turning out button-holes 
any one might be proud of. These accomplish- 
ments did not satisfy her, however, and she 
longed to know much more, — to do and be 
something great and good, — with the sincere 
longing of an earnest, thoughtful girl. 

These morning talks with her father were 
precious half-hours to her ; for they not only read 
and discussed well-chosen books, but Abby opened 
her heart freely, and received his wise counsels 
with a grateful docility which helped to make her 
after-life as benevolent and blessed as his. 

I don’t wonder that Rasselas wanted to get 
out of the Happy Valley and see the world for 
himself. I often feel so, and long to go and 
have adventures, like the people I read about ; to 
do something very splendid, and be brave and 
great and loved and honored/’ said Abby, as she 


102 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

closed the book, and looked out of the open win- 
dow with wistful eyes; for the chestnut trees 
were rustling in the May sunshine, and spring 
was stirring in the girl’s heart, as well as in the 
budding boughs and early flowers on the green 
bank below. 

“ Do not be in a hurry to leave your Happy 
Valley, my dear; but help to keep it so by doing 
your part well. The happiness of life depends 
very much on little things ; and one can be brave 
and great and good while making small sacrifices 
and doing small duties faithfully and cheerfully,” 
answered Mr. Lyon, with the look of one who 
practised what he preached. 

But my little things are so stupid and easy. 
Sewing, and learning to pickle and preserve, and 
going out to tea when I don’t want to, and help- 
ing mother, are none of them romantic or ex- 
citing duties and sacrifices. If I could take care 
of poor people, or be a colonel in a splendid uni- 
form, and march with drums and trumpets, — 
or even a fire-warden, and run to save lives and 
property, and be loved and thanked and trusted, 
as you are, I should be contented,” continued 
Abby, kindling at the thought ; for she considered 
her father the noblest of men, and glowed with 
pride when she saw him in his regimentals on 
great occasions, or when she helped him into the 
leathern cap and coat, and gave him the lantern, 
staff, and canvas bags he used, as fire-warden, 
long before steam-engines, hook and ladder 


Little Tilings 103 

companies, and electric alarms were dreamed of. 

Mr. Lyon laughed as he washed his face at 
the queer, three-cornered stand, and then sat 
down to have his hair tied in a queue by his 
daughter, who prided herself on doing this as 
well as a barber. 

‘‘ Ah, my girl, it ’s not the things that make 
the most noise and show that are the bravest and 
the best; but the everlasting patience, charity, 
and courage needed to bear our daily trials like 
good Christians.'' And the smile changed to a 
sigh, for the excellent man knew the value of 
these virtues, and their rarity. 

‘‘ Yes, I know, sir; but it is so splendid to be 
a hero, and have the world ringing with one's 
glory, like Washington and Lafayette, or Perry, 
Hull, and Lawrence," said Abby, winding the 
black ribbon so energetically that it nearly broke ; 
for her head was full of the brave deeds per- 
formed in the wars of 1775 and 1812, the latter 
of which she well remembered. 

** Easy, my dear, easy ! — remember that it was 
the faithful doing of small things which fitted 
these men to do the grand deeds well, when the 
time came. Heroes are not made in a minute, 
and we never know what we may be called upon 
to live through. Train yourself now to be skil- 
ful, prompt, courageous, and kind ; then when the 
duty or the danger comes, you will be prepared 
for it. ‘ Keep your spindle ready, and the Lord 
will send the flax,' as the old proverb says." 


104 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

‘‘ I will, father, and remember the other say- 
ing that you like and live up to, ‘ Do right and 
leave the consequences to God,’ ” answered Abby, 
with her arm about his neck, and a soft cheek 
against his, feeling that with such an example 
before her she ought not to fail. 

“ That ’s my good girl ! Come, now, begin at 
once. Here ’s a little thing to do, a very homely 
one, but useful, and some honor may be gained 
by doing it nicely; for, if you’ll darn this bad rent 
in my new stocking, I ’ll give you five dollars.” 

As he spoke, Mr. Lyon handed her a heavy 
silk stocking with a great ‘‘ barn-door ” tear in 
the calf. He was rather proud of his handsome 
legs, and dressed them with care, importing hose 
of unusual fineness for state occasions ; being one 
of the old-time gentlemen whose stately elegance^ 
added dignity to any scene. 

Abby groaned as she examined the hole torn 
by a nail, for it was a very bad one, and she 
knew that if not well done, the costly stocking 
would be ruined. She hated to darn, infinitely 
preferring to read, or study Latin with her 
brother, instead of repairing old damask, muslin 
gowns, and the family hose. But she did it well, 
excelling her elder sister in this branch of needle- 
work ; so she could not refuse, though the sacrifice 
of time and taste would have been almost im- 
possible for any one but father. 

‘‘ I ’ll try, sir, and you shall pay me with 
a kiss; five dollars is too much for such a 



HOUR AFTER HOUR SHE WORKED SLOWLY AND CAREFULLY. 

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Little Things 105 

little thing/’ she said, smiling at him as she put 
the stocking into the capacious pocket where girls 
kept housewife, scissors, thimble, pin-ball, and a 
bit of lovage or flag-root in those days. 

I ’m not so sure that you ’ll find it an easy 
job; but remember Bruce and his spider, and 
don’t be conquered by the ‘ little thing.’ Now I 
must be off. Good-by, my darling,” and Mr. 
Lyon’s dark eyes twinkled as he thought of the 
task he had set her; for it seemed as if nothing 
short of a miracle could restore his damaged 
stocking. 

Abby forgot her heroics and ran to get his 
hat and cane, to receive his morning kiss, and 
answer the salute he always paused at the street 
corner to give her before he went away to the 
many cares and labors of his own busy day. But 
while she put her little room in order, dusted 
the parlor, and clapped laces for her mother, 
who, like most ladies long ago, did up her own 
caps and turbans, Abby was thinking over the 
late conversation, and wondering if strict atten- 
tion to small affairs would really lead to some- 
thing good or glorious in the end. 

When her other duties were done, she reso- 
lutely sat down to the detested darn, although it 
would have been much pleasanter to help her 
sister cut out green satin leaves and quill up 
pink ribbon into roses for a garland to festoon 
the skirt of a new white dress. 

Hour after hour she worked, slowly and care- 


io6 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

fully weaving the torn edges together, stitch by 
stitch, till her eyes ached and the delicate needle 
grew rusty in her warm hand. Her mother 
begged her to stop and rest, sister Catharine 
called her to come and see how well the garland 
looked, and a friend came to take her to drive. 
But she refused to stir, and kept at her weaving, 
as patiently as King Robert’s spider, picking out 
a bit that puckered, turning the corner with 
breathless care, and rapping it with her thimble 
on the wooden egg till it lay flat. Then she 
waited till an iron was heated, and pressed it 
nicely, finishing in time to put it on her father’s 
bureau, where he would see it when he dressed 
for dinner. 

‘‘Nearly four hours over that dreadful darn! 
But it ’s done now, and hardly shows, so I do 
think I ’ve earned my money. I shall buy that 
work-box I have wanted so long. The inlaid 
one, with nice velvet beds for the thimble, scis- 
sors, and bodkin, and a glass in the cover, and 
a little drawer for my silk-reels. Father will 
like that, and I shall be proud to show it.” 

These agreeable thoughts were passing through 
Abby’s mind as she went into the front yard for 
a breath of air, after her long task was over. 
Tulips and hyacinths were blooming there, and, 
peeping through the bars of the gate, stood a 
little girl wistfully watching the gay blossoms 
and enjoying their perfume. Now, Abby was 
fond of her garden, and had been hurrying the 


Little Things 107 

early flowers, that they might be ready for her 
father’s birthday nosegay; so her first impulse 
was to feign that she did not see the child, for 
she did not want to give away a single tulip. 
But the morning talk was fresh in her memory, 
and presently she thought : — 

“ Here is a little thing I can do and ashamed 
of the selfish impulse, she gathered several of 
her finest flowers and offered them, saying cor- 
dially : — 

‘‘ I think you would like these. Please take 
them, and by and by when there are more, you 
shall have prettier ones.” 

‘‘ Oh, thank you ! I did want some for 
mamma. She is ill, and will be so pleased,” was 
the grateful answer, given with a little courtesy, 
and a smile that made the wistful face a very 
happy one. 

‘‘ Do you live near by ? ” asked Abby, seeing 
at once from the child’s speech and manner that 
she was both well-bred and grateful. 

** Just around the corner. We are English, 
and papa is dead. Mamma kept school in an- 
other place till she was too ill, and now I take 
care of her and the children as well as I can.” 

The little girl of twelve, in her black frock, 
with a face far too old and anxious for her years, 
was so innocently pathetic as she told the sad 
story, that Abby’s tender heart was touched, and 
an impetuous desire to do something at once 
made her exclaim : — 


io8 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

‘‘ Wait a minute, and I ’ll send something bet- 
ter than flowers. Would n’t your mother like 
some wine jelly? I helped make it, and have a 
glassful all my own.” 

“ Indeed she would ! ” began the child, blush- 
ing with pleasure; for the poor lady needed just 
such delicacies, but thought only of the children’s 
wants. 

Waiting to hear no more, Abby ran in to get 
her offering, and came back beaming with benev- 
olent good-will. 

“ As it is not far and you have that big basket, 
I ’ll go with you and help carry the things, if I 
may? My mother will let me, and my father 
will come and see you, I ’m sure, if you ’d like 
to have him. He takes care of everybody, and 
is the best and wisest man in all the world.” 

Lucy Mayhew accepted these kind offers with 
childish confidence, thinking the young lady a 
sort of angel in a coal-scuttle bonnet, and the two 
went chatting along, good friends at once; for 
Abby had most engaging manners, and her cheer- 
ful face won its way everywhere. 

She found the English family a very interest- 
ing one, for the mother was a gentlewoman, and 
in sore straits now, — being unable to use her 
accomplishments any longer, and failing fast, 
with no friends to protect the four little children 
she must soon leave alone in a strange land. 

“ If they were only cared for, I could go in 
peace; but it breaks my heart to think of them 


Little Things 109 

in an asylum, when they need a home,’’ said the 
poor lady, telling her greatest anxiety to this 
sympathetic young visitor; while Lucy regaled 
the noses of the eager little ones with delicious 
sniffs of the pink and blue hyacinths. 

Tell father all about it, and he ’ll know just 
what to do. He always does, and every one goes 
to him. May he come and see you, ma’am?” 
said Abby, longing to take them all home at once. 

“ He will be as welcome as an angel from' 
Heaven, my child. I am failing very fast, and 
help and comfort are sorely needed,” answered 
the grateful woman, with wet eyes and a heart 
too full for many thanks. 

Abby’s eyes were full also, and promising to 
send father soon,” she went away, little dream- 
ing that the handful of flowers and a few kind 
words were the first links in a chain of events 
that brought a blessing into her own home. 

She waited anxiously for her father’s return, 
and blushed with pleasure as he said, after ex- 
amining her morning’s work : — 

Wonderfully well done, my dear! Your 
mother says she could n’t have done it better 
herself.” 

I ’m sorry that it shows at all ; but it was im- 
possible to hide that corner, and if you wear it on 
the inside of the leg, it won’t be seen much,” ex- 
plained Abby, anxiously. 

“ It shows just enough for me to know where 
to point when I boast of my girl’s patience and 


no Spinning-Wheel Stories 

skill. People say I ’m making a blue-stocking of 
you, because we read Johnson; but my black 
stocking will prove that I have n’t spoiled you 
yet,” said Mr. Lyon, pinching her cheek, as they 
went down to dinner arm in arm. 

Literary ladies were looked upon with awe, 
and by many with disapproval, in those days; 
so Abby’s studious tastes were criticised by the 
good cousins and aunts, who feared she might 
do something peculiar; though, years later, they 
were very proud of the fine letters she wrote, and 
the intellectual society which she had uncon- 
sciously fitted herself to enjoy and adorn. 

Abby laughed at her father’s joke, but said 
no more just then; for young people sat silent 
at table while their elders talked. She longed to 
tell about Lucy ; and when dessert came, she drew 
her chair near to her father’s, that she might pick 
the kernels from his walnuts and drop them into 
his wine, waiting till he said, as usual : ‘‘ Now, 
little girl, let ’s take comfort.” For both en- 
joyed the hour of rest he allowed himself in the 
middle of the day. 

On this occasion he varied the remark by add- 
ing, as he took a bill from his pocket-book and 
gave it to her with a kiss : Well-earned money, 
my dear, and most cheerfully paid.” 

Thank you, sir ! It seems a great deal for 
such a small job. But I do want it very much. 
May I tell you how I ’d like to spend it, father ? ” 
cried Abby, beaming with the sweet delight of 
helping others. 


11 1 


Little Things 

Yes, child ; come and tell me. Something 
for sister, I suspect; or a new book, perhaps.” 
And, drawing her to his knee, Mr. Lyon waited 
with a face full of benignant interest in her little 
confidences. 

She told her story eagerly and well, exclaim- 
ing as she ended : ‘‘ And now, I ’m so glad, so 
very glad, I have this money, all my own, to 
spend for those dear little things ! I know you ’ll 
help them ; but it ’s so nice to be able to do my 
part, and giving away is such a pleasure.” 

“ You are your father’s own daughter in that, 
child. I must go and get my contribution ready, 
or I shall be left out,” said Mrs. Lyon, hastening 
away to add one more charity to the many which 
made her quiet life so beautiful. 

“ I will go and see our neighbor this evening, 
and you shall come with me. You see, rny girl, 
that the homely ‘ little job ’ is likely to be a large 
and pleasant one, and you have earned your part 
in it. Do the duty that comes first, and one never 
knows what beautiful experience it may blossom 
into. LFse your earnings as you like, and God 
bless you, my dear.” 

So Abby had her part in the happy days that 
came to the Mayhews, and enjoyed it more than 
a dozen work-boxes ; while her father was never 
tired of showing the handsome darn and telling 
the story of it. 

Help and comfort were much needed around 
the corner; for very soon the poor lady died. 


1 12 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

But her confidence in the new friends raised up 
to her was not misplaced ; and when all was over, 
and people asked, What will become of the chil- 
dren ? ” Mr. Lyon answered the sad question by 
leading the four little orphans to his own house, 
and keeping them till good homes were found for 
the three youngest. 

Lucy was heart-broken, and clung to Abby in 
her sorrow, as if nothing else could console her 
for all she had lost. No one had the heart to 
speak of sending her away at present; and, be- 
fore long, the grateful little creature had won 
a place for herself which she never forfeited. 

It was good for Abby to have a care of this 
sort, and her generous nature enjoyed it thor- 
oughly, as she played elder sister in the sweetest 
way. It was her first real lesson in the charity 
that made her after-life so rich and beautiful; 
but then she little dreamed how well she was to 
be repaid for her small share in the good work 
which proved to be a blessing to them all. 

Soon, preparations for sister Catharine’s wed- 
ding produced a pleasant bustle in the house, and 
both the younger girls were as busy as bees, 
helping everywhere. Dressmakers ripped and 
stitched upstairs, visitors gossiped in the parlor, 
and cooks simmered and scolded in the kitchen; 
while notable Madam Lyon presided over the 
household, keeping the peace and gently bringing 
order out of chaos. 

Abby had a new sprigged muslin frock, with 


Little Things 113 

a white sash, and her first pair of silk stockings, 
a present from her father. A bunch of pink roses 
gave the finishing touch, and she turned up her 
hair with a tortoise-shell comb in honor of the 
occasion. 

All the relations — and there were many of 
them — came to the wedding, and the hospitable 
mansion was crowded with old and young. A 
fine breakfast was prepared, a line of carriages 
filled the quiet street, and troops of stately ladies 
and gentlemen came marching in ; for the Lyons 
were a much-honored family. 

The interesting moment arrived at last, the 
minister opened his book, the lovely bride entered 
with her groom, and a solemn silence fell upon 
the rustling crowd. Abby was much excited, and 
felt that she was about to disgrace herself by 
crying. Fortunately she stood near the door, 
and finding that a sob would come at thought of 
her dear sister going away forever, she slipped 
out and ran upstairs to hide her tears in the back 
bedroom, where she was put to accommodate 
guests. 

As she opened the door, a puff of smoke made 
her catch her breath, then run to throw open the 
window before she turned to look for the fallen 
brand. A fire had been kindled in this room a 
short time before, and, to Abby’s dismay, the 
sudden draught fanned the smouldering sparks 
which had crept from a fallen log to the mop- 
board and thence around the wooden mantel- 


1 14 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

piece. A suspicious crackling was heard, little 
tongues of flame darted from the cracks, and the 
air was full of smoke. 

Abby’s first impulse was to fly downstairs, 
screaming “ Fire! ” at the top of her voice; her 
second was to stand still and think what to do, — 
for an instant’s recollection showed her what ter- 
ror and confusion such a cry would produce in 
the crowded house, and how unseemly a panic 
would be at such a time. 

‘‘If I could only get at father! But I can’t 
without scaring every one. What would he do? 
I ’ve heard him tell about fires, and how to put 
them out ; I know, — stop the draught first,” and 
Abby shut the window. “ Now water and wet 
blankets,” and away she ran to the bath-room, 
and filling a pail, dashed the water over the burn- 
ing wood. Then, pulling the blankets from off 
the bed, she wet them as well as she could, and 
hung them up before the fire-place, going to and 
fro for more water till the smoke ceased to pour 
out and the crackling stopped. 

Those energetic measures were taken just in 
time to prevent a serious fire, and when Abby 
dared to rest a moment, with her eyes on the 
chimney, fearing the treacherous blaze might 
burst out in a new place, she discovered that 
her clothes were wet, her face blackened, her 
hands blistered, and her breath gone. 

“No matter,” she thought, still too much 
elated with her success to feel the pain. “ Father 


Little Things 1 1 5 

will be pleased, I know ; for this is what he would 
call an emergency, and I ’ve had my wits about 
me. I wish mother would come. Oh, dear ! how 
queerly I feel — ’’ and in the midst of her self- 
congratulation, poor little Abby fainted away, — 
slipping to the floor and lying there, like a new 
sort of Casabianca, faithful at her post. 

Lucy found her very soon, having missed her 
and come to look for her the minute the service 
was over. Much frightened, she ran down again 
and tried to tell Mr. and Mrs. Lyon quietly. But 
her pale face alarmed every one, and when Abby 
came to herself, she was in her father's arms, 
being carried from the scene of devastation to 
her mother’s room, where a crowd of anxious 
relatives received her like a conquering hero. 

“ Well done, my brave little fire-warden! I ’m 
proud of you 1 ” were the first words she heard ; 
and they were more reviving than the burnt 
feathers under her nose, or the lavender-water 
plentifully sprinkled over her by her mother and 
sister. 

With that hearty commendation, her father 
left her, to see that all was safe, and Abby found 
that another sort of courage was needed to sup- 
port her through the next half-hour of trial; for 
her hands were badly burned, and each of the 
excellent relatives suggested a different remedy. 

Flour them ! ” cried Aunt Sally, fanning her 
violently. 

Goose-oil and cotton-batting,” suggested 
Aunt Patty. 


ii6 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Nothing so good as lard,” pronounced Aunt 
Nabby. 

“ I always use dry starch or a piece of salt 
pork,” added cousin Lucretia. 

Butter them ! ” commanded grandma. 

That ’s what I did when my Joseph fell into 
the boiler and came out with his blessed little 
legs the color of lobsters. Butter them, Dolly.” 

That settled the vexed question, and Abby’s 
hands were well buttered, while a hearty laugh 
composed the spirits of the agitated party; for 
the contrast between grandma’s words and her 
splendid appearance, as she sat erect in the big 
arm-chair issuing commands like a general, in 
silver-gray satin and an imposing turban, was 
very funny. 

Then Abby was left to repose, with Lucy and 
old Nurse beside her, while the rest went down 
to eat the wedding feast and see the happy pair 
off in a chaise, with the portmanteau slung under- 
neath, on their quiet honey-moon trip to Pomfret. 

When the bustle was all over, Abby found her- 
self a heroine in her small circle of admiring 
friends and neighbors, who praised and petted 
her as if she had saved the city from destruction. 
She needed comfort very much; for one hand 
was so seriously injured that it never entirely 
recovered from the deep burn, which contracted 
two of her finger-tips. This was a great sorrow 
to the poor girl; for she could no longer play on 
her piano, and was forced to content herself with 


Little Things 1 1 7 

singing like a lark when all joined in the sweet 
old ballads forgotten now. 

It was a misfortune, but it had its happy side ; 
for, during the long months when she was par- 
tially helpless, books were her solace, and she 
studied many things which other duties or pleas- 
ures would have crowded out, if “ Abby’s poor 
hand ” had not been an excuse for such liberty 
and indulgence. It did not make her selfish, how- 
ever, for while regretting her uselessness, she un- 
expectedly found work to do that made her own 
life happy by cheering that of another. 

Lucy proved to be a most intelligent child; 
and when Abby asked what return she could 
make for all the little girl’s loving service during 
her trouble, she discovered that help about les- 
sons would be the favor most desired. Lucy’s 
too early cares had kept her from learning much, 
and now that she had leisure, weak eyes forbade 
study, and she longed vainly to get on as her new 
friend did ; for Abby was her model in all things, 
— looked up to with admiration, love, and 
wonder. 

“ Father, I ’ve been thinking that I might read 
Lucy’s lessons to her and hear her recite. Then 
she would n’t grieve about being backward, and 
I can be eyes to her as she is hands to me. I 
can’t sew or work now, but I can teach the little 
I know. May I, sir? ” asked Abby, one morning, 
after reading a paper in the Spectator, and hav- 
ing a pleasant talk about it during the happy half- 
hour. 


ii8 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

A capital plan, daughter, if you are sure you 
can keep on. To begin and then fail would leave 
the child worse off for the hope and disappoint- 
ment. It will be tiresome to go on day after day, 
so think well before you propose it,” answered 
her father, much pleased with the idea. 

“ I can do it, and I will! If I get tired, I 'll 
look at you and mother, — always so faithful to 
what you undertake — and remember my motto,” 
cried Abby, anxious to follow the example set 
her in the daily life of these good parents. 

A hearty hand-shake rewarded her, and she set 
about the new task with a resolute purpose to 
succeed. It was hard at first to go back to her 
early lessons and read them over and over again 
to eager Lucy, who did her best to understand, 
remember, and recite. But good-will and grati- 
tude worked wonders; and day after day, week 
after week, month after month, the teaching went 
on, to the great surprise and satisfaction of those 
who watched this labor of love. Both learned 
much, and a very strong, sweet friendship grew 
up, which lasted till the young girls became old 
women. 

For nearly two years the daily lessons were 
continued; then Lucy was ready and able to go 
to school, and Abby free from the duty that had 
grown a pleasure. Sister Catharine being gone, 
she was the young lady of the house now, and 
began to go to a few parties, where she distin- 
guished herself by her graceful dancing, and 


Little Things 119 

Sprightly though modest manners. She had 
grown strong and rosy with the exercise her 
sensible mother prescribed and her energetic 
father encouraged, taking long walks with her 
to Roxbury and Dorchester on holidays, over 
bridges and around the common before breakfast 
each morning, till the pale little girl was a tall 
and blooming creature, full of life and spirit, — 
not exactly beautiful, but with a sweet, intelligent 
face, and the frank, cordial ways that are so 
charming. Her brother Sam was very proud of 
her, and liked to see her surrounded by his 
friends at the merry-makings to which he es- 
corted her; for she talked as well as she danced, 
and the older gentlemen enjoyed a good chat with 
Miss Abby as much as the younger ones did the 
elaborate pigeon-wings and pirouettes then in 
vogue. 

Among the older men was one whom Abby 
much admired; for he had fought, travelled, and 
studied more than most men of his age, and 
earned the honors he wore so modestly. She 
was never tired of asking him questions when 
they met, and he never seemed tired of giving 
long, interesting replies; so they often sat and 
talked while others danced, and Abby never 
guessed that he was studying her bright face and 
innocent heart as eagerly as she listened to his 
agreeable conversation and stirring adventures. 

Presently he came to the house with brother 
Sam, who shared Abby’s regard for him; and 


120 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

there, while the young men amused themselves, 
or paid their respects to the elders, one of them 
was still watching the tall girl with the crown of 
brown hair, as she sat by her father, poured the 
tea for Madam, laughed with her brother, or 
made bashful Lucy share their pleasures; always 
so busy, dutiful, and winning, that the visitor pro- 
nounced Mr. Lyon’s the most delightful house 
in Boston. He heard all the little tales of Abby’s 
youth from Sam, and Lucy added her tribute 
with the eloquence of a grateful heart; he saw 
how loved and trusted she was, and he soon 
longed to know how she would answer the ques- 
tion he desired to ask her. Having received per- 
mission from Papa, in the decorous old style, he 
only waited for an opportunity to discover if 
charming Abigail would consent to change her 
name from Lyon to Lamb; and, as if her lesson 
was to be quite complete, a little thing decided 
her fate and made a very happy woman of the 
good girl. 

On Abby’s seventeenth birthday, there was to 
be a party in her honor, at the hospitable family 
mansion, to which all her friends were invited; 
and, when she came down early to see that all 
was in order, she found one impatient guest had 
already arrived. 

It was not alone the consciousness that the 
new pink taffeta gown and the wreath of white 
roses were very becoming which made her blush 
so prettily as she thanked her friend for the fine 


I 2 I 


Little Things 

nosegay he brought her, but something in his 
face, though he only wished her many happy re- 
turns in a hearty way, and then added, laughing, 
as the last button flew off the glove he was awk- 
wardly trying to fasten, — 

It is evident that you did n’t sew on these 
buttons. Miss Abby. I ’ve observed that Sam’s 
never come off, and he says you always keep 
them in order.” 

“ Let me put one on for you. It will take but 
a moment, and you ’ll be so uncomfortable with- 
out it,” said Abby, glad to find employment for 
her eyes. 

A minute afterward she was sorry she had 
offered; for he accepted the little service with 
thanks, and stood watching while she sat down 
at her work-table and began to sew. She was 
very sensitive about her hand, yet ashamed of 
being so; for the scar was inside and the drawn 
fingers showed very little, as it is natural to half 
close them. She hoped he had never seen it, 
and tried to hide it as she worked. But this, or 
some new consciousness, made her usually nim- 
ble fingers lose their skill, and she knotted the 
silk, split the button, and dropped her thimble, 
growing angry with herself for being so silly 
and getting so red and flurried. 

“ I ’m afraid I ’m giving you a deal of 
trouble,” said the gentleman, who was watching 
the white hand with great interest. 

‘‘No; it is I who am foolish about my burnt 


122 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

hands,” answered Abby, in her frank, impetuous 
way. “ See how ugly it is ! ” And she held it 
out, as if to punish herself for the girlish feel- 
ing she despised. 

The answer to this little outburst made her 
forget everything but the sweetest pleasure and 
surprise; for, kissing the scarred palm with ten- 
der respect, her lover said : — 

“ To me it is the finest and the dearest hand 
in the world. I know the brave story, and I Ve 
seen the good this generous hand is never tired 
of doing. I want it for my own. Will you give 
it to me, dear? ” 

Abby must have answered, ‘‘Yes;” for she 
wore a new ring under her glove that night, and 
danced as if there were wings on the heels of 
her pink shoes. 

Whether the button ever got sewed on or not, 
no one knows; but that bit of needlework was 
even more successful than the other small job; 
for in due time there was a second wedding, 
without a fire, and Abby went away tO' a happy 
home of her own, leaving sister Lucy to fill her 
place and be the most loving and faithful of 
daughters to her benefactors while they lived. 

Long years afterward, when she had children 
and grandchildren about her, listening to the true 
old stories that are the best, Abby used to say, 
with her own cheerful laugh : — 

“ My father and mother taught me many use- 
ful lessons, but none more valuable than those 


Little Things 123 

I learned that year ; and I may honestly say that 
patience, perseverance, courage, friendship, and 
love, came out of that silk stocking. So let me 
give you this bit of advice: Don’t despise little 
things, my dears ! ” 



THE BANNER OF BEAUMANOIR 


L arks were singing in the clear sky over 
Dinan, the hill-sides were white with hosts 
of blooming cherry-trees, and the valley 
golden with willow blossoms. The gray tower 
of the good Duchess Anne was hung with gar- 
lands of ivy and gay with tufts of fragrant wall- 
flowers, and along the fosse the shadows deep- 
ened daily as the young leaves thickened on the 
interlacing branches overhead. Women sang 
while they beat their clothes by the pool ; wooden 
shoes clattered to and fro as the girls brought 
water from the fountain in Place St. Louis; 
men, with their long hair, embroidered jackets, 
and baggy breeches, drank cider at the inn doors ; 
and the great Breton horses shook their high 
collars till the bells rang again, as they passed 
along the roads that wound between wide fields 
of colza, buckwheat, and clover. 

Up at the chateau, which stood near the ruins 
of the ancient castle, the great banner streamed 
in the wind, showing, as its folds blew out, the 
device and motto of the Beaumanoirs — two 
clasped hands and the legend, '' En tout chemin 


126 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

loyaufe” ^ In the court-yard, hounds brayed, 
horses pranced, and servants hurried about; for 
the count was going to hunt the wild boar. Pres- 
ently, away they went, with the merry music of 
horns, the clatter of hoofs, and the blithe ring of 
voices, till the pleasant clamor died away in the 
distant woods, where mistletoe clung to the great 
oaks, and menhirs and dolmens, mysterious relics 
of the Druids, were to be seen. 

From one of the windows of the chateau- 
tower a boy’s face looked out, full of eager long- 
ing, — a fine, strong face, but sullen now, with 
black brows, dark, restless eyes, and lips set, as 
if rebellious thoughts were stirring in his mind. 
He watched the gay cavalcade disappear, until 
a sunny silence settled over the landscape, broken 
only by the larks and the sound of a girl’s voice 
singing. As he listened, the frown smoothed it- 
self from his brow, and his eye brightened when 
it rested on a blue-gowned, white-capped figure, 
sprinkling webs of linen, spread to bleach in the 
green meadow by the river Ranee. 

If I may not hunt, I ’ll away to Yvonne ^ and 
take a holiday. She can tell better tales than 
any in this weary book, the bane of my life ! ” 

As he spoke, the boy struck a volume that lay 
on the wide ledge, with a petulant energy that 
sent it fluttering down into the court-yard below. 
Half-ashamed and half-amused, young Gaston 
peeped to see if this random shot had hit any 
* Always loyal. * Pronounced Evone. 


Banner of Beaumanoir 127 

one. But all was quiet and deserted now; so, 
with a boyish laugh and a daring glance at the 
dangerous descent, he said to the doves cooing on 
the roof overhead : “ Here 's a fine pretext for 
escape. Being locked in, how can I get my les- 
son unless I fetch the book? Tell no' tales of 
the time I linger, and you shall be well fed, my 
pretty birds.’' 

Then swinging himself out as if it were no 
new feat, he climbed boldly down through the 
ivy that half hid the carved flowers and figures 
which made a ladder for his agile feet. 

The moment he touched ground, he raced away 
like a hound in full scent to the meadow, where 
he was welcomed by a rosy, brown-eyed lass, 
whose white teeth shone as she laughed to see 
him leap the moat, dodge behind the wall, and 
come bounding toward her, his hair streaming in 
the wind, and his face full of boyish satisfaction 
in this escapade. 

The old tale,” he panted, as he threw himself 
down upon the grass and flung the recovered 
book beside him. This dreary Latin drives 
me mad, and I will not waste such days as this 
poring over dull pages like a priest, when I should 
be hunting like a knight and gentleman.” 

“ Nay, dear Gaston, but you ought, for obedi- 
ence is the first duty of the knight, and honor of 
the gentleman,” answered the girl, in a soft, re- 
proachful tone, which seemed to touch the lad, 
as the voice of a master tames a high-mettled 
horse. 


128 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

‘‘ Had Father Nevin trusted to my honor, I 
would not have run away; but he locked me in, 
like a monk in a cell, and that I will not bear. 
Just one hour, Yvonne, one little hour of free- 
dom, then I will go back, else there will be no 
sport for me to-morrow,” said the lad, recklessly 
pulling up the bluets that starred the grass about 
him. 

“ Ah, if I were set to such a task, I would so 
gladly learn it, that I might be a fitter friend for 
you,” said the girl, reverently turning the pages 
of the book she could not read. 

No need of that; I like you as you are, and 
by my faith, I doubt your great willingness, for 
when I last played tutor and left you to spell out 
the pretty legend of St. Coventin and his little 
fish, I found you fast asleep with the blessed 
book upon the floor,” laughed Gaston, turning 
the tables on his mentor, with great satisfaction. 

The girl laughed also as she retorted, “ My 
tutor should not have left me to play with his 
dogs. I bore my penance better than you, and 
did not run away. Come now, we ’ll be merry. 
Will you talk, or shall I sing, while you rest this 
hot head, and dream of horse and hound and 
spearing the wild boar? ” added Yvonne, smooth- 
ing the locks of hair scattered on the grass, with 
a touch as gentle as if the hand were that of a 
lady, and not that of a peasant, rough with hard 
work. 

‘‘ Since I may not play a man’s part yet, amuse 


Banner of Beaumanoir 129 

me like a boy, with the old tales your mother used 
to tell, when we watched the fagots blaze in the 
winter nights. It is long since I have heard one, 
and I am never tired hearing of the deeds I mean 
to match, if not outdo, some day.” 

“ Let me think a bit till I remember your 
favorites, and do you listen to the bees above 
there in the willow, setting you a good example, 
idle boy,” said Yvonne, spreading a coarse apron 
for his head, while she sat beside him racking 
her brain for tales to beguile this truant hour. 

Her father was the count’s forester, and when 
the countess had died some sixteen years before, 
leaving a month-old boy, good dame Gillian had 
taken the motherless baby, and nursed and reared 
him with her little girl, so faithfully and tenderly 
that the count never could forget the loyal serv- 
ice. As babies, the two slept in one cradle; as 
children they played and quarrelled together ; and 
as boy and girl they defended, comforted, and 
amused each other. But time brought inevitable 
changes, and both felt that the hour of separation 
was near ; for, while Yvonne went on leading the 
peasant life to which she was born, Gaston was 
receiving the education befitting a young count. 
The chaplain taught him to read and write, with 
lessons in sacred history, and a little Latin ; of , 
the forester he learned woodcraft; and his father 
taught him horsemanship and the use of arms, 
accomplishments considered all-important in those 
days. 


130 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Gaston cared nothing for books, except such 
as told tales of chivalry ; but dearly loved athletic 
sports, and at sixteen rode the most fiery horse 
without a fall, handled a sword admirably, could 
kill a boar at the first shot, and longed ardently 
for war, that he might prove himself a man. A 
brave, high-spirited, generous boy, with a very 
tender spot in his heart for the good woman who 
had been a mother to him, and his little foster- 
sister, whose idol he was. For days he seemed 
to forget these humble friends, and led the gay, 
active life of his age and rank; but if wounded 
in the chase, worried by the chaplain, disap- 
pointed in any plan, or in disgrace for any 
prank, he turned instinctively to Dame Gillian 
and Yvonne, sure of help and comfort for mind 
and body. 

Companionship with him had refined the girl, 
and given her glimpses of a world into which 
she could never enter, yet where she could follow 
with eager eyes and high hopes the fortunes of 
this dear Gaston, who was both her prince and 
brother. Her influence over him was great, for 
she was of a calm and patient nature, as well as 
brave and prudent beyond her years. His will 
was law; yet in seeming to obey, she often led 
him, and he thanked her for the courage with 
which she helped him to control his fiery tem- 
per and strong will. Now, as she glanced at 
him she saw that he was already growing more 
tranquil, under the soothing influences of the 


Banner of Beaumanoir 1 3 1 

murmuring- river, the soft flicker of the sun- 
shine, and a blessed sense of freedom. 

So, while she twisted her distaff, she told the 
stirring tales of warriors, saints, and fairies, 
whom all Breton peasants honor, love, and fear. 
But best of all was the tale of Gaston’s own 
ancestor, Jean de Beaumanoir, ‘‘ the herO' of 
Ploermel, where, when sorely wounded and 
parched with thirst, he cried for water, and 
Geoffrey du Bois answered, like a grim old war- 
rior as he was, ‘ Drink thy blood, Beaumanoir, 
and the thirst will pass ; ’ and he drank, and the 
battle madness seized him, and he slew ten men, 
winning the fight against great odds, to his ever- 
lasting glory.” 

“ Ah, those were the times to live in ! If they 
could only come again, I would be a second 
Jean!” 

Gaston sprung to his feet as he spoke, all 
aglow with the warlike ardor of his race, and 
Yvonne looked up at him, sure that he would 
prove himself a worthy descendant of the great 
baron and his wife, the daughter of the brave 
Du Guesclin. 

But you shall not be treacherously killed, as 
he was ; for I will save you, as the peasant woman 
saved poor Giles de Bretagne when starving in 
the tower, or fight for you, as Jeanne d’Arc 
fought for her lord,” answered Yvonne, drop- 
ping her distaff to stretch out her hand to him; 
for she, too, was on her feet. 


132 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Gaston took the faithful hand, and pointing 
to the white banner floating over the ruins of 
the old castle, said heartily : “ We will always 
stand by one another, and be true to the motto 
of our house till death.” 

We will ! ” answered the girl, and both kept 
the promise loyally, as we shall see. 

Just at that moment the sound of hoofs made 
the young enthusiasts start and look toward the 
road that wound through the valley to the hill. 
An old man on a slowly pacing mule was all 
they saw, but the change that came over both 
was comical in its suddenness; for the gallant 
knight turned to a truant school-boy, daunted by 
the sight of his tutor, while the rival of the Maid 
of Orleans grew pale with dismay. 

“ I am lost if he spy me, for my father vowed 
I should not hunt again unless I did my task. 
He will see me if I run, and where can I hide 
till he has past?” whispered Gaston, ashamed of 
his panic, yet unwilling to pay the penalty of his 
prank. 

But quick-witted Yvonne saved him; for lift- 
ing one end of the long web of linen, she showed 
a hollow whence some great stone had been re- 
moved, and Gaston slipped into the green nest, 
over which the linen lay smoothly when replaced. 

On came the chaplain, glancing sharply about 
him, being of an austere and suspicious nature. 
He saw nothing, however, but the peasant girl 
in her quaint cap and wooden sabots, singing 


Banner of Beaumanoir 133 

to herself as she leaned against a tree, with her 
earthen jug in her hand. The mule paused in 
the light shadow of the willows, to crop a mouth- 
ful of grass before climbing the hill, and the 
chaplain seemed glad to rest a moment, for the 
day was warm and the road dusty. 

“ Come hither, child, and give me a draught 
of water,” he called, and the girl ran to fill her 
pitcher, offering it with a low reverence. 

“ Thanks, daughter ! A fine day for the 
bleaching, but over warm for much travel. Go 
to your work child; I will tarry a moment in the 
shade before I return to my hard task of sharp- 
ening a dull youth’s wit,” said the old man when 
he had drunk ; and with a frowning glance at the 
room where he had left his prisoner, he drew a 
breviary from his pocket and began to read, 
while the mule browsed along the road-side. 

Yvonne went to sprinkling the neglected linen, 
wondering with mingled anxiety and girlish mer- 
riment how Gaston fared. The sun shone hotly 
on the dry cloth, and as she approached the boy’s 
hiding-place, a stir would have betrayed him had 
the chaplain’s eyes been lifted. 

Sprinkle me quickly ; I am stifling in this 
hole,” whispered an imploring voice. 

Drink thy blood, Beaumanoir, and the thirst 
will pass,” quoted Yvonne, taking a naughty 
satisfaction in the ignominious captivity of the 
wilful boy. A long sigh was the only answer 
he gave, and taking pity on him, she made a 


1 34 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

little hollow in the linen where she knew his head 
lay, and poured in water till a choking sound 
assured her Gaston had enough. The chaplain 
looked up, but the girl coughed loudly, as she 
went to refill her jug, with such a demure face 
that he suspected nothing, and presently ambled 
away to seek his refractory pupil. 

The moment he disappeared, a small earth- 
quake seemed to take place under the linen, for 
it flew up violently, and a pair of long legs waved 
joyfully in the air as Gaston burst into a ringing 
laugh, which Yvonne echoed heartily. Then, 
springing up, he said, throwing back his wet hair 
and shaking his finger at her : ‘‘You dared not 
betray me, but you nearly drowned me, wicked 
girl. I cannot stop for vengeance now ; but I ’ll 
toss you into the river some day, and leave you 
to get out as you can.” 

Then he was off as quickly as he came, eager 
to reach his prison again before the chaplain 
came to hear the unlearned lesson. Yvonne 
watched him till he climbed safely in at the high 
window and disappeared with a wave of the 
hand, when she, too, went back to her work, little 
dreaming what brave parts both were to play in 
dangers and captivities of which these youthful 
pranks and perils were but a fore-shadowing. 

Two years later, in the month of March, 1793, 
the insurrection broke out in Vendee, and Gaston 
had his wish ; for the old count had been an offi- 
cer of the king’s household, and hastened to 


Banner of Beaumanoir 135 

prove his loyalty. Yvonne’s heart beat high with 
pride as she saw her foster-brother ride gallantly 
away beside his father, with a hundred armed 
vassals behind them, and the white banner flut- 
tering above their heads in the fresh wind. 

She longed to go with him; but her part was 
to watch and wait, to hope and pray, till the hour 
came when she, like many another woman in 
those days, could prove herself as brave as a 
man, and freely risk her life for those she loved. 

Four months later the heavy tidings reached 
them that the old count was killed and Gaston 
taken prisoner. Great was the lamentation 
among the old men, women, and children left 
behind; but they had little time for sorrow, for 
a band of the marauding Vendeans burned the 
chateau, and laid waste the Abbey. 

“ Now, mother, I must up and away to find 
and rescue Gaston. I promised, and if he lives, 
it shall be done. Let me go; you are safe now, 
and there is no rest for me till I know how he 
fares,” said Yvonne, when the raid was over, 
and the frightened peasants ventured to return 
from the neighboring forests, whither they had 
hastily fled for protection. 

‘‘ Go, my girl, and bring me news of our young 
lord. May you lead him safely home again to 
rule over us,” answered Dame Gillian, devoted 
still, — for her husband was reported dead with 
his master, yet she let her daughter go without 
a murmur, feeling that no sacrifice was too great. 


136 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

So Yvonne set out, taking with her Gaston’s 
pet dove and the little sum of money carefully 
hoarded for her marriage portion. The pretty 
winged creature, frightened by the destruction 
of its home, had flown to her for refuge, and 
she had cherished it for its master’s sake. Now, 
when it would not leave her, but came circling 
around her head a league away from Dinan, she 
accepted the good omen, and made the bird the 
companion of her perilous journey. 

There is no room to tell all the dangers, dis- 
appointments, and fatigues endured before she 
found Gaston; but after being often misled by 
false rumors, she at last discovered that he was 
a prisoner in Fort Penthievre. His own reck- 
less courage had brought him there; for in one 
of the many skirmishes in which he had taken 
part, he ventured too far away from his men, 
and was captured after fighting desperately to 
cut his way out. Now, alone in his cell, he raged 
like a caged eagle, feeling that there was no 
hope of escape; for the fort stood on a plateau 
of precipitous rock washed on two sides by the 
sea. He had heard of the massacre of the roy- 
alist emigrants who landed there, and tried to 
prepare himself for a like fate, hoping to die as 
bravely as young Sombreuil, who was shot with 
twenty others on what was afterward named the 
Champ des Martyrs” ^ His last words, when 
ordered by the executioner to kneel, were, I do 

* The Field of Martyrs. 


Banner of Beaumanoir 137 

it; but one knee I bend for my God, the other 
for my king.” 

Day after day Gaston looked down from his 
narrow window, past which the gulls flew 
screaming, and watched the fishers at their work, 
the women gathering sea-weed on the shore, and 
the white sails flitting across the bay of Quiberon. 
Bitterly did he regret the wilfulness which 
brought him there, well knowing that if he had 
obeyed orders he would now be free to find his 
father’s body and avenge his death. 

“ Oh, for one day of liberty, one hope of 
escape, one friend to cheer this dreadful soli- 
tude ! ” he cried, when weeks had passed and he 
seemed utterly forgotten. 

As he spoke, he shook the heavy bars with 
impotent strength, then bent his head as if to 
hide even from himself the few hot tears wrung 
from him by captivity and despair. 

Standing so, with eyes too dim for seeing, 
something brushed against his hair, and a bird 
lit on the narrow ledge. He thought it was a 
gull, and paid no heed; but in a moment a soft 
coo started him, and looking up, he saw a white 
dove struggling to get in. 

‘‘ Blanchette ! ” he cried, and the pretty crea- 
ture flew to his hand, pecking at his lips in the 
old caressing way he knew so well. 

“ My faithful bird, God bless thee ! ” exclaimed 
the poor lad, holding the dove close against his 
cheek to hide the trembling of his lip, — so 


138 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

touched, so glad was he to find in his dreary 
prison even a dumb friend and comforter. 

But Blanchette had her part to play, and pres- 
ently fluttered back to the window ledge, cooing 
loudly as she pecked at something underneath 
her wing. 

Then Gaston remembered how he used to send 
messages to Yvonne by this carrier-dove, and 
with a thrill of joy looked for the token, hardly 
daring to hope that any would be found. Yes! 
there, tied carefully among the white feathers, 
was a tiny roll of paper, with these words rudely 
written on it : — 

Be ready ; help will come. Y.” 

“ The brave girl ! the loyal heart I I might 
have known she would keep her promise, and 
come to save me ; ’’ and Gaston dropped on his 
knees in gratitude. 

Blanchette meantime tripped about the cell on 
her little rosy feet, ate a few crumbs of the hard 
bread, dipped her beak in the jug of water, 
dressed her feathers daintily, then flew to the 
bars and called him. He had nothing to send 
back by this sure messenger but a lock of hair, 
and this he tied with the same thread, in place of 
the note. Then kissing the bird he bade it go, 
watching the silver wings flash in the sunshine 
as it flew away, carrying joy with it and leaving 
hope behind. 

After that the little courier came often unper- 
ceived, carrying letters to and fro; for Yvonne 


Banner of Beaumanoir 139 

sent bits of paper, and Gaston wrote his answers 
with his blood and a quill from Blanchette’s 
wing. He thus learned how Yvonne was living 
in a fisher’s hut on the beach, and working for 
his rescue as well as she dared. Every day she 
might be seen gathering sea-weed on the rocks 
or twirling her distaff at the door of the dilapi- 
dated hut, not as a young girl, but as an old 
woman; for she had stained her fair skin, put 
on ragged clothes, and hidden her fresh face 
under the pent-house cap worn by the women of 
Quiberon. Her neighbors thought her a poor 
soul left desolate by the war, and let her live 
unmolested. So she worked on secretly and 
steadily, playing her part well, and biding her 
time till the long hempen rope was made, the 
sharp file procured unsuspected, and a boat ready 
to receive the fugitives. 

Her plan was perilously simple, but the only 
one possible; for Gaston was well guarded, and 
out of that lofty cell it seemed that no prisoner 
could escape without wings. A bird and a 
woman lent him those wings, and his daring 
flight was a nine days’ wonder at the fort. Only 
a youth accustomed to feats of agility and 
strength could have safely made that dangerous 
escape along the face of the cliff that rose 
straight up from the shore. But Gaston was 
well trained, and the boyish pranks that used 
to bring him into dire disgrace now helped to 
save his life. 


140 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Thus, when the order came, written in the 
rude hand he had taught Yvonne long ago, Pull 
up the thread which Blanchette will bring at mid- 
night. Watch for a light in the bay. Then 
come down, and St. Barbe protect you,” he was 
ready; for the tiny file of watch-spring, brought 
by the bird, had secretly done its work, and sev- 
eral bars were loose. He knew that the attempt 
might cost him his life, but was willing to gain 
liberty even at that price ; for imprisonment 
seemed worse than death to his impatient spirit. 
The jailer went his last round, the great bell 
struck the appointed hour, and Gaston stood at 
the window, straining his eyes to catch the first 
ray of the promised light, when the soft whir 
of wings gladdened his ear, and Blanchette ar- 
rived, looking scared and wet and weary, for 
rain fell, the wind blew fitfully, and the poor 
bird was unused to such wild work as this. But 
obedient to its training, it flew to its master ; and 
no angel could have been more welcome than the 
storm-beaten little creature as it nestled in his 
bosom, while he untangled the lengths of strong 
thread wound about one of its feet. 

He knew what to do, and tying a bit of the 
broken bar to one end, as a weight, he let it 
down, praying that no cruel gust would break 
or blow it away. In a moment a quick jerk at 
the thread bade him pull again. A cord came 
up, and when that was firmly secured, a second 
jerk was the signal for the last and most im- 



HE BOLDLY BEGAN THE DANGEROUS DESCENT. 

\Page 141 




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Banner of Beaumanoir 14 1 

portant haul. Up came the stout rope, knotted 
here and there to add safety and strength to the 
hands and feet that were to climb down that 
frail ladder, unless some cruel fate dashed the 
poor boy dead upon the rocks below. The rope 
was made fast to an iron staple inside, the bars 
were torn away, and Gaston crept through the 
narrow opening to perch on the ledge without, 
while Blanchette flew down to tell Yvonne he 
was coming. 

The moment the distant spark appeared, he be- 
stirred himself, set his teeth, and boldly began 
the dangerous descent. Rain blinded him, the 
wind beat him against the rock, bruising hands 
and knees, and the way seemed endless, as he 
climbed slowly down, clinging with the clutch of 
a drowning man, and blessing Yvonne for the 
knots that kept him from slipping when the gusts 
blew him to and fro. More than once he thought 
it was all over; but the good rope held fast, and 
strength and courage nerved heart and limbs. 
One greater than St. Barbe upheld him, and he 
dropped at last, breathless and bleeding, beside 
the faithful Yvonne. 

There was no time for words, only a grasp of 
the hand, a sigh of gratitude, and they were 
away to the boat that tossed on the wild water 
with a single rower in his place. 

It is our Hoel. I found him looking for you. 
He is true as steel. In, in, and off, or you are 
lost ! ” whispered Yvonne, flinging a cloak about 


142 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Gaston, thrusting* a purse, a sword, and a flask 
into his hand, and holding the boat while he 
leaped in. 

“ But you ? ” he cried ; ‘‘ I cannot leave you in 
peril, after all you have dared and done for me.’^ 
No one suspects me; I am safe. Go to my 
mother; she will hide you, and I will follow 
soon.’' 

Waiting for no further speech, she pushed the 
boat off, and watched it vanish in the darkness; 
then went away to give thanks, and rest after 
her long work and excitement. 

Gaston reached home safely, and Dame Gillian 
concealed him in the ruins of the Abbey, till 
anxiety for Yvonne drove him out to seek and 
rescue in his turn. For she did not come, and 
when a returning soldier brought word that she 
had been arrested in her flight, and sent to 
Nantes, Gaston could not rest, but disguising 
himself as a peasant, went to find her, accom- 
panied by faithful Hoel, who loved Yvonne, 
and would gladly die for her and his young mas- 
ter. Their hearts sunk when they discovered 
that she was in the Boufflay, an old fortress, once 
a royal residence, and now a prison, crowded 
with unfortunate and innocent creatures, arrested 
on the slightest pretexts, and guillotined or 
drowned by the infamous Carrier. Hundreds of 
men and women were there, suffering terribly, 
and among them was Yvonne, brave still, but 
with no hope of escape; for few were saved, and 


Banner of Beaumanoir 143 

then only by some lucky accident. Like a sister 
of mercy she went among the poor souls crowded 
together in the great halls, hungry, cold, sick, 
and despairing, and they clung to her as if she 
were some strong, sweet saint who could deliver 
them or teach them how to die. 

After some weeks of this terrible life, her 
name was called one morning, on the list for that 
day’s execution, and she rose to join the sad pro- 
cession setting forth. 

“ Which is it to be? ” she asked, as she passed 
one of the men who guarded them, a rough fel- 
low, whose face was half hidden by a shaggy 
beard. 

“ You will be drowned ; we have no time to 
waste on women;” was the brutal answer; but 
as the words passed his lips, a slip of paper was 
pressed into her hand, and these words breathed 
into her ear by a familiar voice : “ I am here ! ” 

It was Gaston, in the midst of enemies, bent 
on saving her at the risk of his life, remem- 
bering all he owed her, and the motto of his 
race. The shock of this discovery nearly be- 
trayed them both, and turned her so white that 
the woman next her put her arm about her, say- 
ing sweetly : — 

‘‘Courage, my sister; it is soon over.” 

“I fear nothing now!’^ cried Yvonne, and 
went on to take her place in the cart, looking 
so serene and happy that those about her thought 
her already fit for heaven. 


144 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

No need to repeat the dreadful history of the 
Noyades; it is enough to say that in the con- 
fusion of the moment Yvonne found opportunity 
to read and destroy the little paper, which said 
briefly : — 

“ When you are flung into the river, call my 
name and float. I shall be near.’^ 

She understood, and being placed with a 
crowd of wretched women on the old vessel 
which lay in the river Loire, she employed every 
moment in loosening the rope that tied her hands, 
and keeping her eye on the tall, bearded man who 
moved about seeming to do his work, while his 
blood boiled with suppressed wrath, and his heart 
ached with unavailing pity. It was dusk before 
the end came for Yvonne, and she was all un- 
nerved by the sad sights she had been forced to 
see; but when rude hands seized her, she made 
ready for the plunge, sure that Gaston would 
be near.” He was, for in the darkness and 
uproar, he could leap after her unseen, and while 
she floated, he cut the rope, then swam down 
the river with her hand upon his shoulder till 
they dared to land. Both were nearly spent with 
the excitement and exertion of that dreadful 
hour ; but HoqI waited for them on the shore and 
helped Gaston carry poor Yvonne into a deserted 
house, where they gave her fire, food, dry gar- 
ments, and the gladdest welcome one human 
creature ever gave to another. 

Being a robust peasant, the girl came safely 


Banner of Beaumanoir 145 

through hardships that would have killed or 
crazed a frailer creature; and she was soon able 
to rejoice with the brave fellows over this es- 
cape, so audaciously planned and so boldly car- 
ried out. They dared stay but a few hours, and 
before dawn were hastening through the least 
frequented ways toward home, finding safety in 
the distracted state of the country, which made 
fugitives no unusual sight, and refugees plenti- 
ful. One more adventure, and that a happy one, 
completed their joy, and turned their flight into 
a triumphant march. 

Pausing in the depths of the great forest of 
Hunaudaye to rest, the two young men went 
to find food, leaving Yvonne to tend the fire and 
make ready to cook the venison they hoped to 
bring. It was nightfall, and another day would 
see them in Dinan, they hoped; but the lads had 
consented to pause for the girl’s sake, for she 
was worn out with their rapid flight. They were 
talking of their adventures in high spirits, when 
Gaston laid his hand on HoH’s mouth and 
pointed to a green slope before them. An early 
moon gave light enough to show them a dark 
form moving quickly into the coppice, and some- 
thing like the antlers of a stag showed above 
the tall brakes before they vanished. ‘‘ Slip 
around and drive him this way. I never miss 
my aim, and we will sup royally to-night,” whis- 
pered Gaston, glad to use the arms with which 
they had provided themselves. 


146 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Hoel slipped away, and presently a rustle in 
the wood betrayed the cautious approach of the 
deer. But he was off before a shot could be 
fired, and the disappointed hunters followed long 
and far, resolved not to go back empty-handed. 
They had to give it up, however, and were par- 
tially consoled by a rabbit, which Hoel flung over 
his shoulder, while Gaston, forgetting caution, 
began to sing an old song the women of Brittany 
love so well : — 

“ Quand vous dtiez, captif, Bertrand, fils de Bretagne, 
Tons les fuseaux tournaient aussi dans la campagne.” 


He got no further, for the stanza was finished 
by a voice that had often joined in the ballad, 
when Dame Gillian sang it to the children, as 
she spun : — 

“ Chaque femme apporte son ^cheveau de lin ; 

Ce fut votre rangon, Messire du Guesclin.” 

Both paused, thinking that some spirit of the 
wood mocked them; but a loud laugh, and a 
familiar ‘‘Holo! holo!” made HoH cry, ‘‘The 
forester ! ” while Gaston dashed headlong into 
the thicket whence the sound came, there to find 
the jolly forester, indeed, with a slain deer by 
his side, waiting to receive them with open arms. 

“ I taught you to stalk the deer, and spear the 
boar, not to hunt your fellow-creatures, my lord. 


Banner of Beaumanoir 147 

But I forgive you, for it was well done, and I 
had a hard run to escape,” he said, still laughing. 

“ But how came you here ? ” cried both the 
youths, in great excitement; for the good man 
was supposed to be dead, with his old master. 

'' A long tale, for which I have a short and 
happy answer. Come home to supper with me, 
and I ’ll show you a sight that will gladden 
hearts and eyes,” he answered, shouldering his 
load and leading the way to a deserted hermit- 
age, which had served many a fugitive for a 
shelter. As they went, Gaston poured out his 
story, and told how Yvonne was waiting for 
them in the woods. 

“ Brave lads ! and here is your reward,” 
answered the forester, pushing open the door 
and pointing to the figure of a man, with a pale 
face and bandaged head, lying asleep beside the 
fire. 

It was the count, sorely wounded, but alive, 
thanks to his devoted follower, who had saved 
him when the fight was over; and after weeks 
of concealment, suffering, and anxiety, had 
brought him so far toward home. 

No need to tell of the happy meeting that 
night, nor of the glad return; for, though the 
chateau was in ruins and lives were still in dan- 
ger, they all were together, and the trials they 
had passed through only made the ties of love 
and loyalty between high and low more true and 
tender. Good Dame Gillian housed them all, and 


148 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

nursed her master back to health. Yvonne and 
Hoel had a gay wedding in the course of time, 
and Gaston went to the wars again. A new 
chateau rose on the ruins of the old, and when 
the young lord took possession, he replaced the 
banner that was lost with one of fair linen, 
spun and woven by the two women who had 
been so faithful to him and his, but added a 
white dove above the clasped hands and golden 
legend, never so true as now, — 


“ En tout chemin loyautd’ 


JERSEYS; OR, THE GIRLS’ GHOST 


“ X "W T ELL, what do you think of her ? 

She has only been here a day, but 
* ^ it does n’t take us long to make up 
our minds,” said Nelly Blake, the leader of the 
school, as a party of girls stood chatting round 
the register one cold November morning. 

I like her, she looks so fresh and pleasant, 
and so strong. I just wanted to go and lean 
up against her, when my back ached yesterday,” 
answered Maud, a pale girl wrapped in a shawl. 

‘‘ I ’m afraid she ’s very energetic, and I do 
hate to be hurried,” sighed plump Cordelia, 
lounging in an easy chair. 

“ I know she is, for Biddy says she asked for 
a pail of cold water at six this morning, and 
she ’s out walking now. Just think how horrid,” 
cried Kitty with a shiver. 

I wonder what she does for her complexion. 
Never saw such a lovely color. Real roses and 
cream,” said Julia, shutting one eye to survey 
the freckles on her nose, with a gloomy frown. 

I longed to ask what sort of braces she 
wears, to keep her so straight. I mean to by 
and by; she looks as if she wouldn’t snub a 


150 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

body ; ” and Sally vainly tried to square her own 
round shoulders, bent with much poring over 
books, for she was the bright girl of the school. 

She wears French corsets, of course. Noth- 
ing else gives one such a fine figure,” answered 
Maud, dropping the shawl to look with pride at 
her own wasp-like waist and stiff back. 

“ Could n’t move about so easily and grace- 
fully if she wore a strait- jacket like you. She ’s 
not a bit of a fashion plate, but a splendid 
woman, just natural and hearty and sweet. I 
feel as if I should n’t slouch and poke so much 
if I had her to brace me up,” cried Sally, in her 
enthusiastic way. 

‘‘ I know one thing, girls, and that is, she can 
wear a jersey and have it set elegantly, and we 
can’t,” said Kitty, laboring with her own, which 
would wrinkle and twist, in spite of many hid- 
den pins. 

Yes, I looked at it all breakfast time, and 
forgot my second cup of coffee, so my head aches 
as if it would split. Never saw anything fit so 
splendidly in my life,” answered Nelly, turning 
to the mirror, which reflected a fine assortment 
of many colored jerseys; for all the girls were 
out in their fall suits, and not one of the new 
jackets set like Miss Orne’s, the teacher who 
had arrived to take Madame’s place while that 
excellent old lady was laid up with a rheumatic 
fever. 

“ They are pretty and convenient, but I ’m 


J erseys 1 5 i 

afraid they will be a trial to some of us. Maud 
and Nelly look the best, but they have to keep 
stiff and still, or the wrinkles come. Kit has 
no peace in hers, and poor Cordy looks more like 
a meal bag than ever, while I am a perfect spec- 
tacle, with my round shoulders and long thin 
arms. ‘A jersey on a bean-pole’ describes me; 
but let us be in the fashion or die,” laughed 
Sally, exaggerating her own defects by poking 
her head forward and blinking through her 
glasses in a funny way. 

There was a laugh and then a pause, broken 
in a moment by Maud, who said, in a tone of 
apprehension : 

I do hope Miss Orne is n’t full of the new 
notions about clothes and food and exercise and 
rights and rubbish of that sort. Mamma hates 
such ideas, and so- do I.” 

I hope she is full of good, wise notions about 
health and work and study. It is just what we 
need in this school. Madame is old and lets 
things go, and the other teachers only care to get 
through and have an easy time. We ought to be 
a great deal better, brisker, and wiser than we 
are, and I ’m ready for a good stirring up if 
any one will give it to us,” declared Sally, who 
was a very independent girl and had read as 
well as studied much. 

You Massachusetts girls are always raving 
about self-culture, and ready for queer new ways. 
I ’m contented with the old ones, and want to 


152 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

be let alone and finished off easily,” said Nelly, 
the pretty New Yorker. 

Well, I gO' with Sally, and want to get all 
I can in the way of health, learning, and man- 
ners while I ’m here ; and I ’m real glad Miss 
Orne has come, for Madame’s old-fashioned, 
niminy priminy ways did fret me dreadfully. 
Miss Orne is more like our folks out West, — 
spry and strong and smart, see if she is n’t,” 
said Julia, with a decided nod of her auburn 
head. 

‘‘There she is now! Girls, she’s running! 
actually trotting up the avenue — not like a hen, 
but a boy — with her elbows down and her head 
up. Do come and see ! ” cried Kitty, dancing 
about at the window as if she longed to go and 
do likewise. 

All ran in time to see a tall young lady come 
up the wide path at a good pace, looking as fresh 
and blithe as the goddess of health, as she smiled 
and nodded at them, so like a girl that all re- 
turned her salute with equal cordiality. 

“ She gives a new sort of interest to the old 
treadmill, doesn’t she?” said Nelly, as they 
scattered to their places at the stroke of nine, 
feeling unusually anxious to appear well before 
the new teacher. 

While they pull down their jerseys and take 
up their books, we will briefly state that Madame 
Stein’s select boarding-school had for many years 
received six girls at a time, and finished them off 



THERE SHE IS NOW ! GIRLS, SHe’s RUNNING ! ” 

\Page 152 






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Jerseys 153 

in the old style. Plenty of French, German, 
music, painting, dancing, and deportment turned 
out well-bred, accomplished, and amiable young 
ladies, ready for fashionable society, easy lives, 
and entire dependence on other people. Dainty 
and delicate creatures usually, for, as in most 
schools of this sort, minds and manners were 
much cultivated, but bodies rather neglected. 
Heads and backs ached, dyspepsia was a com- 
mon ailment, and poorlies of all sorts affected 
the dear girls, who ought not to have known 
what “ nerves ” meant, and should have had no 
bottles in their closets holding wine and iron, 
cough mixtures, soothing drops and cod-liver oil 
for weak lungs. Gymnastics had once flourished, 
but the fashion had gone by, and a short walk 
each day was all the exercise they took, though 
they might have had glorious romps in the old 
coach-house and bowling-alley in bad weather, 
and lovely rambles about the spacious grounds; 
for the house was in the suburbs, and had once 
been a fine country mansion. Some of the live- 
liest girls did race down the avenue now and 
then, when Madame was away, and one irre- 
pressible creature had actually slid down the 
wide balusters, to the horror of the entire house- 
hold. 

In cold weather all grew lazy and cuddled 
under blankets and around registers, like so many 
warmth-loving pussies, — poor Madame's rheu- 
matism making her enjoy a hot-house tempera- 


154 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

ture and indulge the girls in luxurious habits. 
Now she had been obliged to give up entirely and 
take to her bed, saying, with the resignation of 
an indolent nature : — 

“ If Anna Orne takes charge of the school I 
shall feel no anxiety. She is equal to anything.^' 

She certainly looked so as she came into the 
school-room ready for her day’s work, with lungs 
full of fresh air, brain stimulated by sound sleep, 
wholesome exercise, and a simple breakfast, and 
a mind much interested in the task before her. 
The girls’ eyes followed her as she took her place, 
involuntarily attracted by the unusual spectacle 
of a robust woman. Everything about her 
seemed so fresh, harmonious, and happy, that it 
was a pleasure to see the brilliant color in her 
cheeks, the thick coils of glossy hair on her 
spirited head, the flash of white teeth as she 
spoke, and the clear, bright glance of eyes both 
keen and kind. But the most admiring glances 
were on the dark-blue jersey that showed such 
fine curves of the broad shoulders, round waist, 
and plump arms, without a wrinkle to mar its 
smooth perfection. 

Girls are quick to see what is genuine, to re- 
spect what is strong, and to love what is beauti- 
ful; so before that day was over, Miss Orne had 
charmed them all; for they felt that she was not 
only able to teach but to help and amuse them. 

After tea the other teachers went to their 
rooms, glad to be free from the chatter of half 


Jerseys 155 

a dozen lively tongues; but Miss Orne remained 
in the drawing-room, and set the girls to dan- 
cing till they were tired, then gathered them 
round the long table to do what they liked till 
prayer-time. Some had novels, others did fancy- 
work or lounged, and all wondered what the new 
teacher would do next. 

Six pairs of curious eyes were fixed upon her, 
as she sat sewing on some queer bits of crash, 
and six lively fancies vainly tried to guess what 
the articles were, for no one was rude enough 
to ask. Presently she tried on a pair of mittens, 
and surveyed them with satisfaction, saying as 
she caught Kitty staring with uncontrollable 
interest : — 

These are my beautifiers, and I never like 
to be without them.’’ 

‘‘ Are they to keep your hands white ? ” asked 
Maud, who spent a good deal of time in caring 
for her own. “ I wear old kid gloves at night 
after cold-creaming mine.” 

I wear these for five minutes night and 
morning, for a good rub, after dipping them in 
cold water. Thanks to these rough friends, I 
seldom feel the cold, get a good color, and keep 
well,” answered Miss Orne, polishing up her 
smooth cheek till it looked like a rosy apple. 

I ’d like the color, but not the crash. Must 
it be so rough, and with cold water?” asked 
Maud, who often privately rubbed her pale face 
with a bit of red flannel, rouge being forbidden 
except for theatricals. 


156 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

‘‘ Best so ; but there are other ways to get a 
color. Run up and down the avenue three or 
four times a day, eat no pastry, and go to bed 
early,” said Miss Orne, whose sharp eye had 
spied out the little weaknesses of the girls, and 
whose kind heart longed to help them at once. 

‘‘ It makes my back ache to run, and Madame 
says we are too old now.” 

Never too old to care for one’s health, my 
dear. Better run now than lie on a sofa by and 
by, with a back that never stops aching.” 

“ Do you cure your headaches in that way ? ” 
asked Nelly, rubbing her forehead wearily. 

“ I never have them ; ” and Miss Orne’s bright 
eyes were full of pity for all pain. 

‘‘What do you do to help it?” cried Nelly, 
who firmly believed that it was inevitable. 

“ I give my brain plenty of rest, air, and good 
food. I never know I have any nerves, except 
in the enjoyment they give me, for I have learned 
how to use them. I was not brought up to be- 
lieve that I was born an invalid, and was taught 
to understand the beautiful machinery God gave 
me, and to keep it religiously in order.” 

Miss Orne spoke so seriously that there was 
a brief pause in which the girls were wishing 
that some one had taught them this lesson and 
made them as strong and lovely as their new 
teacher. 

“If crash mittens would make my jersey set 
like yours I ’d have a pair at once,” said Cordy, 


Jerseys 157 

sadly eyeing the buttons on her own, which 
seemed in danger of flying oif if their plump 
wearer moved too quickly. 

“ Brisk runs are what you want, and less con- 
fectionery, sleep, and lounging in easy chairs ; 
began Miss Orne, all ready to prescribe for these 
poor girls, the most important part of whose 
education had been so neglected. 

“ Why, how did you know ? said Cordy, 
blushing, as she bounced out of her luxurious 
seat and whisked into her pocket the paper of 
chocolate creams she was seldom without. 

Her round eyes and artless surprise set the 
others to laughing, and gave Sally courage to 
ask what she wanted, then and there. 

“ Miss Orne, I wish you would show us how 
to be strong and hearty, for I do think girls are 
a feeble set now-a-days. We certainly need stir- 
ring up, and I hope you will kindly do it. Please 
begin with me, then the others will see that I 
mean what I say.” 

Miss Orne looked up at the tall, overgrown 
girl who stood before her, with broad forehead, 
near-sighted eyes, and narrow chest of a student ; 
not at all what a girl of seventeen should be, 
physically, though a clear mind and a brave spirit 
shone in her clever face and sounded in her reso- 
lute voice. 

“ I shall very gladly do what I can for you, 
my dear. It is very simple, and I am sure that 
a few months of my sort of training will help 


158 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

you much; for you are just the kind of girl 
who should have a strong body, to keep pace 
with a very active brain,” answered Miss Orne, 
taking Sally’s thin, inky fingers in her own, with 
a friendly pressure that showed her good will. 

‘‘ Madame says violent exercise is not good 
for girls, so we gave up gymnastics long ago,” 
said Maud, in her languid voice, wishing that 
Sally would not suggest disagreeable things. 

“ One does not need clubs, dumb bells, and 
bars for my style of exercise. Let me show 
you ; ” and rising, Miss Orne went through a 
series of energetic but graceful evolutions, which 
put every muscle in play without great exertion. 

‘‘ That looks easy enough,” began Nelly. 

Try it,” answered Miss Orne, with a sparkle 
of fun in her blue eyes. 

They did try, — to the great astonishment of 
the solemn portraits on the wall, unused to see- 
ing such antics in that dignified apartment. But 
some of the girls were out of breath in five min- 
utes; others could not lift their arms over their 
heads; Maud and Nelly broke several bones in 
their corsets, trying to stoop; and Kitty tumbled 
down, in her efforts to touch her toes without 
bending her knees. Sally got on the best of all, 
being long of limb, easy in her clothes, and full 
of enthusiasm. 

“ Pretty well for beginners,” said Miss Orne, 
as they paused at last, flushed and merry. “ Do 
that regularly every day, and you will soon gain 


J erseys 159 

a few inches across the chest and fill out the new 
jerseys with firm, elastic figures.” 

‘‘ Like yours,” added Sally, with a face full 
of such honest admiration that it could not 
offend. 

Seeing that she had made one convert, and 
knowing that girls, like sheep, are sure to follow 
a leader. Miss Orne said no more then, but 
waited for the leaven to work. The others called 
it one of Sally’s notions, but were interested to 
see how she would get on, and had great fun, 
when they went to bed, watching her faithful 
efforts to imitate her teacher’s rapid and effective 
motions. 

‘‘ The wind-mill is going ! ” cried Kitty, as 
several of them sat on the bed, laughing at the 
long arms swinging about. 

“ That is hygienic elbow-exercise, and that 
the Orne Quickstep, a mixture of the grass- 
hopper’s skip and the water-bug’s slide,” added 
Julia, humming a tune in time to the stamp of 
the other’s foot. 

‘‘ We will call these the Jersey Jymnastics, 
and spell the last with a J, my dear,” said Nelly; 
and the name was received with as much ap- 
plause as the young ladies dared to give it at that 
hour. 

‘‘ Laugh on, but see if you don’t all follow 
my example sooner or later, when I become a 
model of grace, strength, and beauty,” retorted 
Sally, as she turned them out and went to bed. 


i6o Spinning-Wheel Stories 

tingling all over with a delicious glow that sent 
the blood from her hot head to warm her cold 
feet, and bring her the sound, refreshing sleep 
she so much needed. 

This was the beginning of a new order of 
things, for Miss Orne carried her energy into 
other matters besides gymnastics, and no one 
dared oppose her when Madame shut her ears 
to all complaints, saying, ‘‘ Obey her in every- 
thing, and don’t trouble me.” 

Pitchers of fresh milk took the place of tea 
and coffee; cake and pie were rarely seen, but 
better bread, plain puddings, and plenty of fruit. 

Rooms were cooled off, feather beds sent up 
garret, and thick curtains abolished. Sun and 
air streamed in, and great cans of water appeared 
suggestively at doors in the morning. Earlier 
hours were kept, and brisk walks taken by nearly 
all the girls; for Miss Orne baited her hook 
cleverly, and always had some pleasant project 
to make the wintry expeditions inviting. There 
were games in the parlor instead of novels, and 
fancy-work in the evening; shorter lessons, and 
longer talks on the many useful subjects that are 
best learned from the lips of a true teacher. A 
cooking class was started, not to make fancy 
dishes, but the plain, substantial ones all house- 
wives should understand. Several girls swept 
their own rooms, and liked it after they saw Miss 
Orne do hers in a becoming dust-cap; and these 
same pioneers, headed by Sally, boldly coasted on 


i6i 


the hill, swung clubs in the coach-house, and 
played tag in the bowling-alley rainy days. 

It took time to work these much-needed 
changes, but young people like novelty; the old 
routine had grown tiresome, and Miss Orne 
made things so lively and pleasant it was im- 
possible to resist her wishes. Sally did begin to 
straighten up, after a month or two of regular 
training; Maud outgrew both corsets and back- 
ache; Nelly got a fresh color; Kitty found her 
thin arms developing visible muscles ; and Julia 
considered herself a Von Hillern, after walking 
ten miles without fatigue. 

But dear, fat Cordy was the most successful 
of all; and rejoiced greatly over the loss of a 
few pounds when she gave up over-eating, long 
naps, and lazy habits. Exercise became a sort of 
mania with her, and she was continually trudg- 
ing off for a constitutional, or trotting up and 
down the halls when bad weather prevented the 
daily tramp. It was the desire of her soul to 
grow thin, and such was her ardor that Miss 
Orne had to check her sometimes, lest she should 
overdo the matter. 

All this is easy and pleasant now, because 
it is new,” she said, ‘‘ and there is no one to 
criticise our simple, sensible ways; but when you 
go away I am afraid you will undo the good 
I have tried to do you. People will ridicule you, 
fashion will condemn, and frivolous pleasures 
make our wholesome ones seem hard. Can you 
be steadfast, and keep on ? ” 


1 62 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

‘‘ We will ! ” cried all the girls ; but the older 
ones looked a little anxious, as they thought of 
going home to introduce the new ways alone. 

Miss Orne shook her head, earnestly wishing 
that she could impress the important lesson in- 
delibly upon them; and very soon something 
happened which had that effect. 

April came, and the snowdrops and crocuses 
were up in the garden beds. Madame was able 
to sit at her window, peering out like a dormouse 
waking from its winter sleep; and much did the 
good lady wonder at the blooming faces turned 
up to nod and smile at her, the lively steps that 
tripped about the house, and the amazing spec- 
tacle of her young ladies racing round the lawn 
as if they liked it. No one knew how Miss Orne 
reconciled her to this new style of deportment; 
but she made no complaint, — only shook her 
impressive cap when the girls came beaming in 
to pay little visits, full of happy chat about their 
affairs. They seemed to take a real interest in 
their studies now, to be very happy; and all 
looked so well that the wise old lady said to 
herself : — 

Looks are everything with women, and I 
have never been able to show such a bouquet of 
blooming creatures at my breaking up as I shall 
this year. I will let well enough alone, and if 
fault is found, dear Anna’s shoulders are broad 
enough to bear it.” 

Things were in this promising state, and all 


Jerseys 163 

were busily preparing for the May fete, at which 
time this class of girls would graduate, when the 
mysterious events occurred to which we have 
alluded. 

They were gathered — the girls, not the events 
— round the table one night, discussing, with the 
deep interest befitting such an important topic, 
what they should wear on examination day. 

“ / think white silk jerseys and pink or blue 
skirts would be lovely; so pretty and so appro- 
priate for the J. J. Club, and so nice for us to 
do our exercises in. Miss Orne wants us to show 
how well we go together, and of course we want 
to please her;” said Nelly, taking the lead as 
usual in matters of taste. 

Of course ! ” cried all the girls, with an 
alacrity which plainly showed how entirely the 
new friend had won their hearts. 

I would n’t have believed that six months 
could make such a difference in one’s figure and 
feelings,” said Maud, surveying her waist with 
calm satisfaction, though it was no longer slen- 
der, but in perfect proportion to the rest of her 
youthful shape. 

“ I’ve had to let out every dress, and it’s a 
mercy I’m going home, for I should n’t be decent 
if I kept on at this rate; ” and Julia took a long 
breath, proud of her broad chest, expanded by 
plenty of exercise, and loose clothing. 

“ I take mine in, and don’t have to worry 
about my buttons flying off, a la Clara Peggotty. 


164 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

I ’m so pleased I want to be training all the time, 
for I ’m not half thin enough yet,’’ said Cordy, 
jumping up for a trot round the room, that not 
a moment might be lost. 

“ Come, Sally, you ought to join in the jubilee, 
for you have done wonders, and will be as 
straight as a ramrod in a little while. Why so 
sober to-night? Is it because our dear Miss Orne 
leaves us to sit with Madame?” asked Nelly, 
missing the gayest voice of the six, and observ- 
ing her friend’s troubled face. 

I’m making up my mind whether I ’d better 
tell you something or not. Don’t want to scare 
the servants, trouble Madame, or vex Miss Orne ; 
for I know she would n’t believe a word of it, 
though I saw it with my own eyes,” answered 
Sally, in such a mysterious tone that the girls 
with one voice cried, — 

“ Tell us, this minute ! ” 

I will ; and perhaps some of you can explain 
the matter.” 

As she spoke, Sally rose and stood on the rug 
with her hands behind her, looking rather wild 
and queer; for her short hair was in a toss, her 
eyes shone large behind her round glasses, and 
her voice sank to a whisper as she made this 
startling announcement ; — 

I ’ve seen a ghost ! ” 

A general shiver pervaded the listeners, and 
Cordy poked her head under the sofa pillows 
with a faint cry, while the rest involuntarily drew 
nearer to one another. 


Jerseys 165 

Where? ” demanded Julia, the bravest of the 
party. 

“ On the top of the house.’' 

“Good gracious! When, Sally?” “What 
did it look like? ” “ Don’t scare us for fun,” — 
cried the girls, undecided whether to take this 
startling story in jest or earnest. 

“ Listen, and I ’ll tell you all about it,” an- 
swered Sally, holding up her finger impressively. 

“ Night before last I sat till eleven, studying. 
Against the rules, I know; but I forgot, and 
when I was through I opened my window to 
air the room. It was bright moonlight, so I took 
a stroll along the top of the piazza, and coming 
back with my eyes on the sky I naturally saw the 
roof of the main house from my wing. I 
could n’t have been asleep, could I ? yet, I sol- 
emnly declare I saw a white figure with a veil 
over its head roaming to and fro as quietly as 
a shadow. I looked and looked, then I called 
softly, but it never answered, and suddenly it 
was gone.” 

“ What did you do ? ” quavered Cordy, in 
a smothered voice from under the pillow. 

“ Went straight in, took my lamp and marched 
up to the cupola. Not a sign of any one, all 
locked and the floor dusty, for we never go there 
now, you know. I did n’t like it, but just said, 
‘Sally, go to bed; it’s an optical illusion and 
serves you right for studying against the rule.’ 
That was the first time.” 


1 66 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

‘‘ Mercy on us ! Did you see it again ? ’’ cried 
Maud, getting hold of Julia’s strong arm for 
protection. 

“Yes, in the -bowling-alley at midnight,” 
whispered Sally. 

“ Do shut the door. Kit, and don’t keep clutch- 
ing at me in that scary way ; it ’s very unpleas- 
ant,” said Nelly, glancing nervously over her 
shoulder as the six pairs of wide-opened eyes 
were fixed on Sally. 

“ I got up to shut my window last night, and 
saw a light in the alley. A dim one, but bright 
enough to show me the same white thing going 
up and down, with the veil as before. I ’ll con- 
fess I was nervous then, for you know there is 
a story that in old times the man who lived here 
would n’t let his daughter marry the lover she 
wanted, and she pined away and died, and said 
she ’d haunt the cruel father, and she did. Old 
Mrs. Foster told me all about it when I first 
came, and Madame asked me not to repeat it, 
so I never did. I don’t believe in ghosts, mind 
you, but what on earth is it, trailing about in 
that ridiculous way ? ” 

Sally spoke nervously and looked excited, for 
in spite of courage and common sense she was 
worried to account for the apparition. 

“ How long did it stay? ” asked Julia, with her 
arm round Maud, who was trembling and pale. 

“ A good fifteen minutes by my watch, then 
vanished, light and all, as suddenly as before. 


Jerseys 167 

I didn’t go to look after it that time, but if I 
see it again I ’ll hunt till I find out what it is. 
Who will go with me ? ” 

No one volunteered, and Cordy emerged long 
enough to say imploringly : — 

Do tell Miss Orne, or get the police ; ” then 
dived out of sight again, and lay quaking like 
an ostrich with its head in the sand. 

‘‘ I won’t ! Miss Orne would think I was a 
fool, and the police don’t arrest ghosts. I ’ll do 
it myself, and Julia will help me, I know. She 
is the bravest of you, and has n’t developed her 
biceps for nothing,” said Sally, bent on keeping 
all the glory of the capture to themselves if pos- 
sible. 

Flattered by the compliment to her arms, Julia 
did not decline the invitation, but made a very 
sensible suggestion, which was a great relief to 
the timid, till Sally added a new fancy to haunt 
them. 

Perhaps it is one of the servants moon-struck 
or love-lorn. Myra looks sentimental, and is 
always singing : — 

I ’m waiting, waiting, darling, 

Morning, night, and noon ; 

Oh, meet me by the river 
When softly shines the moon.” 


It ’s not Myra ; I asked her, and she turned 
pale at the mere idea of going anywhere alone 


1 68 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

after dark, and said cook had seen a banshee 
gliding down the Lady’s Walk one night, when 
she got up for camphor, having the face-ache. 
I said no more, not wanting to scare them; ig- 
norant people are so superstitious.” 

Sally paused, and the girls all tried not to look 
‘‘ scared ” or ‘‘ superstitious,” but did not succeed 
very well. 

What are you going to do?” asked Nelly, 
in a respectful tone, as Julia and Sally stood side 
by side, like Horatius and Herminius waiting for 
a Spurius Lartius to join them. 

Watch, like cats for a mouse, and pounce as 
soon as possible. All promise to say nothing; 
then we can’t be laughed at if it turns out some 
silly thing, as it probably will,” answered Sally. 

“We promise!” solemnly answered the girls, 
feeling deeply impressed with the thrilling inter- 
est of the moment. 

“ Very well; now don’t talk about it or think 
about it till we report, or no one will sleep a 
wink,” said Sally, walking off with her ally as 
coolly as if, after frightening them out of their 
wits, they could forget the matter at word of 
command. 

The oath of silence was well kept, but lessons 
suffered, and so did sleep, for the excitement was 
great, especially in the morning, when the watch- 
ers reported the events of the night, and in the 
evening, when they took turns to go on guard. 
There was much whisking of dressing-gowns 


Jerseys 169 

up and down the corridor of the west wing, 
where our six roomed, as the girls flew to ask 
questions early each day, or scurried to bed, 
glancing behind them for the banshee as they 
went. 

Miss Orne observed the whispers, nods, and 
eager confabulations, but said nothing, for 
Madame had confided to her that the young 
ladies were planning a farewell gift for her. So 
she was blind and deaf, and smiled at the im- 
portant airs of her girlish admirers. 

Three or four days passed, and no sign of the 
ghost appeared. The boldest openly scoffed at 
the false alarm, and the most timid began to re- 
cover from their fright. 

Sally and Julia looked rather foolish as they 
answered, “ no news,’’ morning after morning, 
to the inquiries which were rapidly losing the 
breathless eagerness so flattering to the watchers. 

“ You dreamed it, Sally. Go to sleep, and 
don’t do it again,” said Nelly, on the fifth day, 
as she made her evening call and found the girls 
yawning and cross for want of rest. 

She has exercised too much, and produced a 
morbid state of the brain,” laughed Maud. 

“ I just wish she would n’t scare me out of my 
senses for nothing,” grumbled Cordy ; “ I used 
to sleep like a dormouse, and now I dream dread- 
fully and wake up tired out. Come along. Kit, 
and let the old ghosts carry off these silly crea- 
tures.” 


lyo Spinning-Wheel Stories 

My regards to the Woman in White when 
you see her again, dear,” added Kitty, as the 
four went off to laugh at the whole thing, though 
they carefully locked their doors and took a peep 
out of the window before going to sleep. 

“ We may as well give it up and have a good 
rest. I ’m worn out, and so are yon, if you M 
own it,” said Julia, throwing herself down for 
a nap before midnight. 

‘‘ I shall not give it up till I ’m satisfied. Sleep 
away, I ’ll read awhile and call you if anything 
comes,” answered Sally, bound to prove the truth 
of her story if she waited all summer. 

Julia was soon off, and the lonely watcher sat 
reading till past eleven; then put out her light 
and went to take a turn on the flat roof of the 
piazza that ran round the house, for the night 
was mild and the stars companionable. As she 
turned to come back, her sharp eye caught sight 
of something moving on the house-top as before, 
and soon, clear against the soft gloom of the sky, 
appeared the white figure flitting to and fro. 

A long look, and then Sally made a rush at 
Julia, shaking her violently as she said in an ex- 
cited whisper: 

Come ! she is there. Quick 1 upstairs to the 
cupola ; I have the candle and the key.” 

Carried away by the other’s vehemence Julia 
mutely obeyed, trembling, but afraid to resist; 
and noiseless as two shadows, they crept up the 
stairs, arriving just in time to see the ghost van- 


Jerseys 17 1 

ish over the edge of the roof, as if it had dis- 
solved into thin air. Julia dropped down in a 
heap, desperately frightened, but Sally pulled her 
up and led her back to their room, saying, when 
she got there, with grim satisfaction, Did I 
dream it all? Now I hope they will believe me.^' 
What was it ? Oh, what could it be ? 
whimpered Julia, quite demoralized by the spec- 
tacle. 

“ I begin to believe in ghosts, for no human 
being could fly off in that way, with nothing to 
walk on. I shall speak to Miss Ome to-morrow ; 
I Ve had enough of this sort of fun,” said Sally, 
going to the window, with a strong desire to shut 
and lock it. 

But she paused with her hand raised, as if 
turned to stone, for as she spoke the white figure 
went slowly by. Julia dived into the closet, with 
one spring. Sally, however, was on her mettle 
now, and, holding her breath, leaned out to 
watch. With soundless steps the veiled thing 
went along the roof, and paused at the further 
end. 

Never waiting for her comrade, Sally quietly 
stepped out and followed, leaving Julia to quake 
with fear and listen for an alarm. 

None came, and in a few minutes, that seemed 
like hours, Sally returned, looking much excited; 
but was sternly silent, and, to all the other’s 
eager questions she would only give this mys- 
terious reply : — 


172 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

I know all, but cannot tell till morning. Go 
to sleep.’' 

Believing her friend offended at her base de- 
sertion at the crisis of the affair, Julia curbed her 
curiosity and soon forgot it in sleep. Sally slept 
also, feeling like a hero reposing after a hard- 
won battle. 

She was up betimes and ready to receive her 
early visitors with an air of triumph, which 
silenced every jeer and convinced the most skep- 
tical that she had something sensational to tell 
at last. 

When the girls had perched themselves on any 
available article of furniture, they waited with 
respectful eagerness, while Sally retired to the 
hall for a moment, and Julia rolled her eyes, with 
her finger on her lips, looking as if she could tell 
much if she dared. 

Sally returned somewhat flushed, but very so- 
ber, and in a few dramatic words related the ad- 
ventures of the night, up to the point where she 
left Julia quivering ignominiously in the closet, 
and, like Horatius, faced the foe alone. 

‘‘ I followed till the ghost entered a window.” 

‘‘ Which ? ” demanded five awestruck voices 
at once. 

The last.” 

“Ours?” whispered Kitty, pale as her collar, 
while Cordy, her room-mate, sat aghast. 

“ As it turned to shut the window the veil fell 
back and I saw the face.” Sally spoke in a whis- 


J erseys 173 

per and added, with a sudden start, “ I see it 
now ! ” 

Every girl sprang or tumbled off her perch as 
if an electric shock had moved them, and stared 
about them as Nelly cried wildly, “Where? oh, 
where?” 

“ There ! ” and Sally pointed at the palest face 
in the room, while her own reddened with the 
mirth she was vainly trying to suppress. 

“ Cordy?” 

A general shriek of amazement and incredu- 
lity followed the question, while Sally laughed 
till the tears ran down her cheeks at the dumb 
dismay of the innocent ghost. 

As soon as she could be heard she quickly ex- 
plained : “ Yes, it was Cordy, walking in her 
sleep. She wore her white flannel wrapper, and 
a cloud round her head, and took her exercise 
over the roofs at midnight, so that no time might 
be lost. I don’t wonder she is tired in the morn- 
ing, after such dangerous gymnastics as these.” 

“ But she couldn’t vanish in that strange way 
off the house-top without breaking her neck,” 
said Julia, much relieved, but still mystified. 

“ She did n’t fly nor fall, but went down the 
ladder left by the painters. Look at the soles of 
her felt slippers, if you doubt me, and see the red 
paint from the roof. We could n’t open the cu- 
pola windows, you remember, but this morning 
I took a stroll and looked up and saw how she 
did it asleep, though she never would dare to do 


174 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

it awake. Somnambulists do dreadfully danger- 
ous things, you know,’' said Sally, as if her ex- 
perience of those peculiar people had been vast 
and varied. 

“ How could I ? It ’s horrid to think of. Why 
did you let me. Kit ? ” cried Cordy, uncertain 
whether to be proud or ashamed of her exploit. 

‘‘ Never dreamed of your doing such a silly 
thing, and never waked up. Sleep-walkers are 
always quiet, and if I had seen you I ’d have been 
too scared to know you. I ’ll tie you to the bed- 
post after this, and not let you scare the whole 
house,” answered Kitty, regarding it all as a fine 
joke. 

“ What did I do when I got in ? ” asked Cordy, 
curiously. 

Took off your things and went to bed as if 
glad to get back. I did n’t dare to wake you, 
and kept the fun all to myself till this morning. 
Thought I ought to have a good laugh for my 
pains since I did all the work,” answered Sally, 
in high glee at the success of her efforts. 

“ I did want to get as thin as I could before 
I went home, the boys plague me so ; and I sup- 
pose it wore upon me and set me to walking at 
night. I ’m very sorry, and I never will again 
if I can help it. Please forgive me, and don’t 
tell any one but Miss Orne; it was so silly,” 
begged poor Cordy, tearfully. 

All promised and comforted her, and praised 
Sally, and plagued Julia, and had a delightfully 


J erseys 175 

noisy and exciting half hour before the breakfast 
bell rang. 

Miss Ome wondered what made the young 
faces so gay and the laughter so frequent, as 
mysterious hints and significant nods went on 
around the table; but as soon as possible she 
was borne into the school-room and told the 
thrilling tale. 

Her interest and surprise were very flattering, 
and when the subject had been well discussed 
she promised to prevent any further escapades 
of this sort, and advised Cordy to try the Bant- 
ing method for the few remaining weeks of her 
stay. 

I ’ll try anything that will keep me from 
acting ghost and making every one afraid of 
me,” said Cordy, secretly wondering why she had 
not broken her neck in her nocturnal gymnastics. 

‘‘ Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Orne ? ” 
asked Maud, — who did, in spite of the comic 
explanation of this one. 

Not the old-fashioned sort, but there is a 
modern kind that we are all afraid of more or 
less,” answered Miss Orne, with a half-playful, 
half-serious look at the girls around her. 

'' Do tell about them, please,” begged Kitty, 
while the rest looked both surprised and inter- 
ested. 

“ There is one which I am very anxious to 
keep you from fearing. Women are especially 
haunted by it, and it prevents them from doing. 


176 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

being, and thinking all that they might and 
ought. ‘ What will people say ? ’ is the name of 
this formidable ghost; and it does much harm, 
for few of us have the courage to live up to what 
we know to be right in all things. You are soon 
to go away to begin your lives in earnest, and 
I do hope that whatever I have been able to teach 
you about the care of minds and bodies will not 
be forgotten or neglected because it may not be 
the fashion outside our little world.’’ 

I never will forget, or be afraid of that 
ghost. Miss Ome,” cried Sally, quick to under- 
stand and accept the warning so opportunely 
given. 

I have great faith in you^ dear, because you 
have proved yourself so brave in facing phan- 
toms more easily laid. But this is a hard one to 
meet and vanquish; so watch well, stand firm, 
and let these jerseys that you are so fond of 
cover not only healthy young bodies but happy 
hearts, both helping you to be sweet, wise, and 
useful women in the years to come. Dear girls, 
promise me this, and I shall feel that our winter 
has not been wasted, and that our spring is full 
of lovely promise for a splendid summer.” 

As she spoke, with her own beautiful face 
bright with hope and tenderness. Miss Orne 
opened her arms and gathered them all in, to seal 
their promise with grateful kisses more eloquent 
than words. 

Long after their school days were over, the 


Jerseys 


177 


six girls kept the white jerseys they wore at the 
breaking-up festival, as relics of the J. J. ; and 
long after they were scattered far apart, they 
remembered the lessons which helped them to be 
what their good friend hoped — healthy, happy, 
and useful women. 



THE LITTLE HOUSE IN THE GARDEN 


T THINK we little ones ought to have a 

I story all to ourselves now/’ said one of 
the smaller lads, as they gathered round 
the fire with unabated interest. 

So do I, and I ’ve got a little tale that will 
just suit you, I fancy. The older boys and girls 
can go and play games if they don’t care to 
hear,” answered Aunt Elinor, producing the 
well-worn portfolio. 

‘‘ Thanks, we will try a bit, and if it is very 
namby pamby we can run,” said Geoff, catching 
sight of the name of the first chapter. Aunt Eli- 
nor smiled and began to read about 

THE LITTLE HOUSE IN THE GARDEN 

/. Bears 

A BROWN bear was the first tenant; in fact, it 
was built for him, and this is the way it hap- 
pened : — 

A man and his wife were driving through the 
woods up among the mountains, and hearing a 
queer sound looked about them till they spied two 
baby bears in a tree. 


1 8o Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Those must be the cubs of the old bear that 
was killed last week/’ said Mr. Hitchcock, much 
interested all at once. 

Poor little things ! how will they get on 
without their mother? They look half scared 
to death, and cry like real babies,” said the kind 
woman. 

They will starve if we don’t take care of 
them. I’ll shake them down; you catch them 
in your shawl and we ’ll see what we can do for 
them.” 

So Mr. Hitchcock climbed up the tree, to the 
great dismay of the two orphans, who growled 
funny little growls and crept as far out on the 
branch as they dared. 

“ Shake easy, John, or they will fall and be 
killed,” cried the wife, holding out her shawl for 
this new kind of fruit to fall into. 

Down they came, one after the other, and at 
first were too frightened to fight ; so Mr. Hitch- 
cock got them into the wagon safely bundled up, 
and Mrs. Hitchcock soothed their alarm by gen- 
tle pattings and motherly words, till they ceased 
to struggle, and cuddled down to sleep like two 
confiding puppies, for they were not much big- 
ger. 

Mr. Hitchcock kept the hotel that stood at the 
foot of the king of the mountains, and in summer 
the house was full of people; so he was glad of 
any new attraction, and the little bears were the 
delight of many children. At first, Tom and 


The House in the Garden 1 8 i 

Jerry trotted and tumbled about like frolicsome 
puppies, and led easy lives, — petted, fed and 
admired, till they grew so big and bold that, like 
other young creatures, their pranks made mis- 
chief as well as fun. 

Tom would steal all the good things he could 
lay his paws on in kitchen or dining-room, and 
cook declared she could n’t have the rascal loose ; 
for whole pans of milk vanished, sheets of gin- 
ger-bread were found in his den under the back 
steps, and nearly every day he was seen scram- 
bling off with booty of some sort, while the fat 
cook waddled after, scolding and shaking the 
poker at him, to the great amusement of the 
boarders on the piazza. People bore with him 
a long time ; but when he took a lively trot down 
the middle of the long dinner-table one day, after 
eating all he liked, and smashing right and left 
as he scampered off, with a terrible clatter of 
silver, glass, and china, his angry master declared 
he would n’t have such doings, and chained him 
to a post on the lawn. Here he tugged and 
growled dismally, while good little Jerry frisked 
gayly about, trying to understand what it all 
meant. 

But presently his besetting sin got him into 
trouble likewise. He loved to climb, and was 
never happier than when scrambling up the rough 
posts of the back piazza to bask in the sun on the 
roof above, peeping down with his sharp little 
eyes at the children, who could not follow. He 


1 82 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

roosted in trees like a fat brown bird, and came 
tumbling down unexpectedly on lovers who 
sought quiet nooks to be romantic in. He ex- 
plored the chimneys and threw into them any 
trifle he happened to find, — being a rogue, and 
fond of stealing hats, balls, dolls, or any small 
article that came in his way. But the fun he 
liked best was to climb in at the chamber win- 
dows and doze on the soft beds; for Jerry was 
a luxurious fellow and scorned the straw of his 
own den. This habit annoyed people much, and 
the poor bear often came bundling out of win- 
dows, with old gentlemen whacking him with 
canes, or ladies throwing water after him. 

One evening, when there was a dance and 
every one was busy down stairs, Jerry took a 
walk on the roof, and being sleepy, looked about 
for a cosey bed to take a nap in. Two brothers 
occupied one of these rooms, and both were 
Jerry’s good friends, especially the younger. 
Georgie was fast asleep, as his dancing days 
had not yet begun, and Charlie was waltzing 
away down stairs; so Jerry crept into bed and 
nestled down beside his playmate, who was too 
sleepy to do anything but roll over, thinking the 
big brother had come to bed. 

By and by Charlie did come up, late and tired, 
and having forgotten a lamp, undressed in the 
moonlight, observing nothing till about to step 
into bed; then, finding something rolled up in 
the clothes, thought it a joke of the other boys. 


The House in the Garden 183 

caught up a racket and began to bang away at 
the suspicious bundle. A scene of wild confu- 
sion followed, for Jerry growled and clawed and 
could n’t get out ; Georgie woke, and thinking 
his bed-fellow was his brother being abused by 
some frolicsome mate, held on to Jerry, defend- 
ing him bravely, till a rent in the sheet allowed 
a shaggy head to appear, so close to his own that 
the poor child was painfully reminded of Red 
Riding Hood’s false grandmother. Charlie was 
speechless with laughter at this discovery, and 
while Jerry bounced about the bed snarling and 
hugging pillows as he tried to get free, terrified 
Georgie rushed down the hall screaming, The 
wolf ! the wolf ! ” till he took refuge in his moth- 
er’s room. 

Out popped night-capped heads, anxious voices 
cried, ‘‘ Is it fire?” and in a moment the house 
was astir. The panic might have been serious 
if Jerry had not come galloping down stairs, 
hotly pursued by Charlie in his night-gown, still 
belaboring the poor beast, and howling, He was 
in my bed ! He scared George ! I ’ll thrash 
him!” 

Then the alarmed ladies and gentlemen 
laughed and grew calm, while the boys all turned 
out and hunted Jerry up stairs and down, till he 
was captured and ignominiously lugged away to 
be tied in the barn. 

That prank sealed his fate, and he went to 
join his brother in captivity. Here they lived 


184 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

for a year, and went to housekeeping in a den 
in the bank, with a trough for their food, and 
a high, knotted pole to climb on. They had many 
visitors, and learned a few tricks, but were not 
happy bears; for they longed to be free, and the 
older they grew, the more they sighed for the 
great forest where they were born. 

The second summer something happened that 
parted them forever. Among the children that 
year were Fred and Fan Howard, two jolly 
young persons of twelve and fourteen. Of course 
the bears were very interesting, and Fred tried 
their tempers by tormenting them, while Fan 
won their hearts with cake and nuts, candy and 
caresses. Tom was Fred’s favorite, and Jerry 
was Fan’s. Tom was very intelligent, and cov- 
ered himself with glory by various exploits. One 
was taking off the boards which roofed the den, 
so that the sun should dry the dampness after a 
rain; and he carefully replaced them at night. 
Any dog who approached the trough got his ears 
smartly boxed, and meddlesome boys were 
hugged till they howled for mercy. He danced 
in a way to convulse the soberest, and Fred 
taught him to shoulder arms in such a funny 
imitation of a stout old soldier of the town that 
the children rolled on the grass in fits of laugh- 
ter when the cap was on, and the wooden gun 
flourished at word of command by the clumsy 
hero. 

Jerry had no accomplishments, but his sweet 


The House in the Garden 185 

temper made many friends. He let the doves eat 
with him, the kittens frolic all over his broad 
back, and was never rough with the small people 
who timidly offered the buns he took so gently 
from their little hands. But he pined in captiv-' 
ity, refused his food, and lay in his den all day, 
or climbed to the top of the pole and sat there 
looking off to the cool, dark forest, with such 
a pensive air that Fan said it made her heart 
ache to see him. Just before the season ended, 
Jerry disappeared. No one could imagine how 
the chain broke, but gone he was, and never came 
back, to Fan’s satisfaction and Tom’s great sor- 
row. He mourned for his brother, and Mr. 
Hitchcock began to- talk of killing him; for it 
would not do to let two bears loose in the neigh- 
borhood, as they sometimes killed sheep and did 
much harm. 

I wish my father would buy him,” said 
Fred, ‘‘ Fve always wanted a menagerie, and a 
tame bear would be a capital beginning.” 

'' Fll ask him, for I hate to have the poor old 
fellow killed,” answered Fan. She not only 
begged papa to buy Tom, but confessed that she 
filed Jerry’s chain and helped him to escape. 

I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t see him 
suffer,” she said. ‘‘Now if you buy Tom I ’ll 
give you my five dollars to help, and Mr. Hitch- 
cock will forgive me and be glad to get rid of 
both the bears.” 

After some consultation Tom was bought, and 


i86 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

orders were sent to have a house built for him 
in a sunny corner of the garden, with strong 
rings to chain him to, and a good lock on the 
door to keep him in. When he was settled in 
these new quarters he held daily receptions for 
some weeks. Young and old came to see him, 
and Fred showed off his menagerie with the 
pride of a budding Barnum. A bare spot was 
soon worn on the grass where Tom’s parade 
ground was, and at all hours the poor fellow 
might be seen dancing and drilling, or sitting at 
his door, thoughtfully surveying the curious 
crowd, and privately wishing he never had been 
born. 

Here he lived for another year, getting so big 
that he could hardly turn round in his house, 
and so cross that Fred began to be a little afraid 
of him after several hugs much too close to be 
safe or agreeable. One morning the door of the 
house was found broken off, and Tom gone. 
Fred was rather relieved ; but his father was anx- 
ious, and ordered out the boys of the neighbor- 
hood to find the runaway, lest he should alarm 
people or do some harm. It was an easy matter 
to trace him, for more than one terrified woman 
had seen the big, brown beast sniffing round her 
back premises after food; a whole schoolful of 
children had been startled out of their wits 
by a bear’s head at the window; and one old 
farmer was in a towering rage over the dam- 
age done to his bee-hives and garden patch by 


The House in the Garden 187 

the pesky critter, afore he took to the woods.” 

After a long tramp poor Tom was found rolled 
up in a sunny nook, resting after a glorious 
frolic. He went home without much reluctance, 
but from that time it was hard to keep him. 
Bolts and bars, chains and ropes were of little 
use ; for when the longing came, off he went, on 
one occasion carrying the house on his back, like 
a snail, till he tipped it over and broke loose. 
Fred was quite worn out with his pranks, and 
tried to sell or give him away ; but nobody would 
buy or accept such a troublesome pet. Even ten- 
der hearted Fan gave him up, when he fright- 
ened a little child into a fit and killed some sheep, 
in his last holiday. 

It was decided that he must be killed, and a 
party of men, armed with guns, set out to carry 
the sentence into effect. Fred went also to see 
that all was properly done, and Fanny called after 
him with tears in her eyes : — 

“ Say good by for me, and kill him as kindly 
as you can.” 

This time Tom had been gone a week and had 
evidently made up his mind to be a free bear; 
for he had wandered far into the deepest wood 
and made a den for himself among the rocks. 
Here they found him, but could not persuade him 
to come out, and no bold Putnam was in the 
troop, to creep in and conquer him there. 

“ Bullets will reach him if we can't, so blaze 
away, boys, and finish him off. We have fooled 


1 88 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

away time enough, and I want to get home to 
supper,” said the leader of the hunt, after many 
attempts had been made to lure or drive Tom 
from his shelter. 

So they “ blazed away,” and growls of pain 
proved that some of the bullets had hit. But 
Tom would not budge, and having used up their 
ammunition, the disappointed hunters went home 
resolving to bring dogs next day and finish the 
job. They were spared the trouble, however, 
for when Fred looked from his window in the 
morning he saw that Tom had returned, and ran 
down to welcome the rebel back. But one look 
at the poor beast showed him that he had only 
come home to die; for he was covered with 
wounds and lay moaning on his bed of straw, 
looking as pathetic as a bear could, his shaggy 
coat full of burrs, his head and breast full of 
shot, and one paw apparently broken. 

Fanny cried over him, and Fred was quite 
bowed down with remorse; but nothing could 
be done, and soon, with a vain effort to lick the 
hands that stroked him, poor Tom lifted his great 
paw for a farewell shake, and died, with his great 
head on his master’s knee, in token of forgive- 
ness. As if to atone for their seeming cruelty, 
Fanny hung the little house with black while 
Tom lay in state, and Fred, resisting all tempta- 
tions to keep his fine skin, buried him like a war- 
rior with his martial cloak around him,” in the 
green woods he loved so well. 


The House in the Garden 189 

11. Boys 

The next tenants of the little house were 
three riotous lads, — for Fred’s family moved 
away, — and the new comers took possession 
one fine spring day with great rejoicing over 
this ready-made plaything. They were queer 
fellows, of eleven, twelve, and fourteen; for, 
having read the “ Boys’ Froissart ” and other 
warlike works, they were carried away by these 
stirring tales, and each boy was a hero. Harry, 
the eldest, was Henry of Navarre, and wore a 
white plume on every occasion. Ned was the 
Black Prince, and clanked in tin armor, while 
little Billy was William Tell and William Wal- 
lace by turns. 

. Tom’s deserted mansion underwent astonish- 
ing changes about this time. Bows and arrows 
hung on its walls; battle-axes, lances, and guns 
stood in the corners; helmets, shields, and all 
manner of strange weapons adorned the rafters; 
cannon peeped from its port-holes ; a drawbridge 
swung over the moat that soon surrounded it; 
the flags of all nations waved from its roof, and 
the small house was by turns an armory, a fort, 
a castle, a robber’s cave, a warrior’s tomb, a wig- 
wam, and the Bastile. 

The neighbors were both amused and scan- 
dalized by the pranks of these dramatic young 
persons; for they enacted with much spirit and 
skill all the historical events which pleased their 


190 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

fancy, and speedily enlisted other boys to join in 
the new plays. At one time, painted and be- 
feathered Indians whooped about the garden, 
tomahawking the unhappy settlers in the most 
dreadful manner. At another, Achilles, radiant 
in a tin helmet and boiler-cover shield, dragged 
Hector at the tail of his chariot (the wheel-bar- 
row), drawn by two antic and antique steeds, 
who upset both victor and vanquished before the 
fun was over. Tell shot bushels of apples off the 
head of the stuffed suit of clothes that acted his 
son, Coeur de Leon and Saladin hacked blocks 
and cut cushions a la Walter Scott, and tourna- 
ments of great splendor were held on the grass, 
in which knights from all ages, climes, and races, 
tilted gallantly, while fair dames of tender years 
sat upon the wood-pile to play Queens of Beauty 
and award the prize of valor. 

Nor were more modern heroes forgotten. Na- 
poleon crossed the Alps (a muck heap, high 
fence, and prickly hedge), with intrepid courage. 
Wellington won many a Waterloo in the melon 
patch, and Washington glorified every corner 
of the garden by his heroic exploits. Grant 
smoked sweet-fern cigars at the fall of Rich- 
mond; Sherman marched victoriously to Geor- 
gia through the corn and round the tomato bed, 
and Phil Sheridan electrified the neighborhood 
by tearing down the road on a much-enduring 
donkey, stung to unusual agility by matches tied 
to his tail. 


The House in the Garden 1 9 1 

It grew to be an almost daily question among 
the young people, “ What are the Morton boys 
at now ? ” for these interesting youths were much 
admired by their mates, who eagerly manned the 
fences to behold the revels, when scouts brought 
word of a new play going on. Mrs. Morton be- 
lieved in making boys happy at home, and so 
allowed them entire liberty in the great garden, 
as it was safer than river, streets, or ball-ground, 
where a very mixed crowd was to be found. 
Here they were under her own eye, and the safe, 
sweet tie between them still held fast; for she 
was never too busy to bind up their wounds after 
a fray, wave her handkerchief when cheers told 
of victory, rummage her stores for costumes, or 
join in their eager study of favorite heroes when 
rain put an end to their out-of-door fun. 

So the summer was a lively one, and though 
the vegetables suffered some damage, a good 
crop of healthy, happy hours was harvested, and 
all were satisfied. The little house looked much 
the worse for the raids made upon it, but still 
stood firm with the stars and stripes waving over 
it, and peace seemed to reign one October after- 
noon as the boys lay under the trees eating apples 
and planning what to play next. 

Bobby wants to be a knight of the Round 
Table. We might take him in and have fun with 
the rites, and make him keep a vigil and all that,'' 
proposed William Wallace, anxious to admit his 
chosen friend to the inner circle of the brother- 
hood. 


192 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

He ’s such a little chap he ’d be scared and 
howl. I don’t vote for that/’ said the Black 
Prince, rather scornfully, as he lay with his 
kingly legs in the air, and his royal mouth full 
of apple. 

“I do!” declared Henry of Navarre, always 
generous, and amiable. ‘‘ Bob is a plucky little 
chap, and will do anything we put him to. He ’s 
poor and the other fellows look down on him, 
so that ’s another reason why we ought to take 
him in and stand by him. Let ’s give him a good 
trial, and if he ’s brave, we ’ll have him.” 

“ So we will I Let ’s do it now ; he ’s over 
there waiting to be asked in. He does n’t go 
poking his nose where he is n’t wanted, as some 
folks do,” cried Billy, who had often been 
snubbed by the big boys in his efforts at knightly 
feats. 

A whistle brought Bobby, with a beaming face, 
for he burned to join the fun, but held back be- 
cause he was not a gentleman’s son. A sturdy, 
honest little soul was Bobby, true as steel, brave 
as a lion, and loyal as an old-time vassal to his 
young lord, kind Billy, who always told him all 
the plans^ explained the mysteries, and shared the 
goodies when feasts were spread. 

Now he stood leaning against one of the posts 
of the little house whither the boys had ad- 
journed, and listened bashfully while Harry told 
him what he must do to join the heroes of the 
Round Table. He did not understand half of it, 


The House in the Garden 193 

but was ready for any trial, and took the comical 
oath administered to him with the utmost solem- 
nity. 

“ You must stay here locked in for some hours, 
and watch your armor. That ’s the vigil young 
knights had to keep before they could fight. You 
must n’t be scared at any noises you hear, or 
anything you see, or sing out for help, even if 
you stay here till dark. You’ll be a coward if 
you do, and never have a sword.” 

‘‘I promise truly; hope to die if I don’t!” 
answered Bobby, fixing his blue eyes on the 
speaker, and holding his curly head erect with 
the air of one ready to face any peril; for the 
desire of his soul was to own a sword, like Billy, 
and clash it on warlike occasions. 

Then a suit of armor was piled up on the red 
box, which was by turns altar, table, tomb, and 
executioner’s block. Banners were hung over 
it, the place darkened, two candles lighted, and 
after certain rites which cannot be divulged, the 
little knight was left to his vigil with the door 
locked. 

The boys howled outside, smote on the roof, 
fired a cannon, and taunted the prisoner with 
derisive epithets to stir him to wrath. But no cry 
answered them, no hint of weariness, fear, or 
anger betrayed him, and after a half-hour of this 
sort of fun, they left him to the greater trial of 
silence, solitude, and uncertainty. 

The short afternoon was soon gone, and the 


194 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

tea bell rang before the vigil had lasted long 
enough. 

“ He won’t know what time it is ; let ’s leave 
him till after supper, and then march out with 
torches and bring him in to a good feed. Mother 
won’t mind, and Hetty likes to stuff fellows,” 
proposed Harry, and all being hungry, the first 
part of the plan was carried out at once. 

But before tea was over, the unusual clang of 
the fire bells drove all thought of Bobby out of 
the boys’ minds, as they raced away to the ex- 
citing scene, to take their share in the shouting, 
running, and tumbling about in every one’s 
way. 

The great hotel was burning, and till midnight 
the town was in an uproar. No lives were lost, 
but much property, and nothing else was thought 
of till dawn. A heavy shower did good service, 
and about one o’clock, people began to go home 
tired out. Mrs. Morton and other ladies were 
too busy giving shelter to the people from the 
hotel, and making coffee for the firemen, to send 
their boys to bed. In fact, they could not catch 
them; for the youngsters were wild with excite- 
ment, and pervaded the place like will-o’-the- 
wisps, running errands, lugging furniture, splash- 
ing about with water, and howling till they were 
as hoarse as crows. 

This is the battle of Beauvais, and we ’ve set 
the city a-fire by flinging pitch-pots over the 
walls,” croaked Harry to Ned as they bumped 


The House in the Garden 195 

against each other, one carrying a great coffee- 
pot and the other a feather-bed. 

“ No, it ’s the fall of Troy, and I ’m .^neas 
lugging off the old man,” panted Ned, stagger- 
ing away with the heavy load on his back. 

At last the flurry was over, and our three lads, 
very dirty, wet, and tired, went to bed and to 
sleep, and never once thought of poor Bobby, 
till next morning. Then Harry suddenly rose 
up, with an exclamation that effectually roused 
both his brothers. 

‘‘ By St. Dennis, we Ve left that boy there all 
night!” 

“ He would nff be such a fool as to stay ; that 
old lock 's broken easy enough,” said Ned, look- 
ing troubled, in spite of his words. 

Yes, he would! He promised, and he’ll 
keep his word like a true knight. It rained and 
was cold, and no one knew where he was. Oh 
dear, I hope he is n’t dead,” cried Billy, tumbling 
out of bed and into his clothes as fast as he could. 

The others laughed, but dressed with unusual 
speed and flew to the garden house, to find the 
lock unbroken, and all as still inside as when 
they left it. Looking very anxious, Harry 
opened the door and all peeped in. There, at 
his post before the altar, lay the little knight fast 
asleep. Rain had soaked his clothes, the chilly 
night air made his lips and hands purple with 
cold, and the trials of those long hours left the 
round cheeks rather pale. But he still guarded 


196 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

his arms, and at the first sound was awake and 
ready to defend them, though somewhat shaky 
with sleep and stiffness. 

The penitent boys poured forth apologies, in 
which fire, remorse, and breakfast were oddly 
mixed. Bobby forgave them like a gentleman, 
only saying, with a laugh and a shiver, ‘‘ Guess 
I ’d better go home, ma 'll be worried about me. 
If I 'd known being out all night and getting wet 
was part of the business, I 'd ’a’ left word and 
brought a blanket. Be I a Round Table now? 
Shall I have a sword, and train with the rest? 
I did n’t holler once, and was n’t much scared, 
for all the bells, and the dark, and the rain.” 

“ You ’ve won your spurs, and we ’ll knight 
you just as soon as we get time. You ’re a brave 
fellow, and I ’m proud to have you one of my 
men. Please don’t say much about this ; we ’ll 
make it all right, and we ’re awfully sorry,” an- 
swered Harry, while Ned put his own jacket 
over the wet shoulders, and Billy beamed at him, 
feeling that his friend’s exploit outdid any of 
his own. 

Bobby marched away as proudly as if he al- 
ready saw the banners waving over him, and 
felt the accolade that made him a true knight. 
But that happy moment was delayed for some 
time, because the cold caught in that shower 
threatened a fit of sickness; and the boys’ play 
looked as if it might end in sad earnest. 

Harry and his brothers confessed all to 


The House in the Garden 197 

mamma, listened with humility to her lecture on 
true knighthood, and did penance by serving 
Bobby like real brothers-in-arms, while he was 
ill. As soon as the hardy boy was all right 
again, they took solemn counsel together how 
they should reward him, and atone for their 
carelessness. Many plans were discussed, but 
none seemed fine enough for this occasion till 
Billy had a bright idea. 

“ Let ’s buy Bob some hens. He wants some 
dreadfully, and we ought to do something grand 
after treating him so badly, and nearly killing 
him.” 

‘‘Who’s got any money? I haven’t; but 
it ’s a good idea,” responded Ned, vainly groping 
in all his pockets for a cent to head the subscrip- 
tion with. 

“ Mamma would lend us some, and we could 
work to pay for it,” began Billy. 

“ No, I ’ve a better plan,” interrupted Harry 
with authority. “ We ought to make a sacrifice 
and suffer for our sins. We will have an auc- 
tion and sell our arms. The boys want them, 
and will pay well. My lords and gentlemen, 
what say ye ? ” 

“We will!” responded the loyal subjects of 
King Henry. 

“ Winter is coming, and we can’t use them,” 
said Billy, innocently. 

“ And by next spring we shall be too old for 
such games,” added Ned. 


igS Spinning-Wheel Stories 

’T is well ! Ho ! call hither my men. Bring 
out the suits of mail; sound the trumpets, and 
set on ! ” thundered Harry, striking an attitude, 
and issuing his commands with royal brevity. 

A funny scene ensued; for while Billy ran 
to collect the boys, Ned dismantled the armory, 
and Hal disposed of the weapons in the most 
effective manner, on trees, fences, and grass, 
where the bidders could examine and choose at 
their ease. Their mates had always admired and 
coveted these war-like treasures, for some were 
real, and others ingenious imitations; so they 
gladly came at sound of the hunter’s horn which 
was blown when Robin Hood wanted his merry 
men. 

Harry was auctioneer, and rattled off the most 
amazing medley of nonsense in praise of the 
articles, which he rapidly knocked down to the 
highest bidder. The competition was lively, for 
the boys laughed so much they hardly knew what 
they were doing, and made the rashest offers; 
but they all knew what the money was to be used 
for, so they paid their bills handsomely, and 
marched off with cross-bows, old guns, rusty 
swords, and tin armor, quite contented with 
their bargains. 

Seven dollars was realized by the sale, and a 
fine rooster and several hens solemnly presented 
to Bobby, who was overwhelmed by this unex- 
pected atonement, and immediately established 
his fowls in the woodshed, where they happily 


The House in the Garden 199 

resided through the winter, and laid eggs with 
such gratifying rapidity that he earned quite a 
little fortune, and insisted on saying that his vigil 
had not only made a knight of him, but a million- 
aire. 


III. Babies 

The little house stood empty till spring; then 
a great stir went on in the garden, getting it 
ready for a new occupant. It was mended, 
painted red, fitted up with a small table and 
chairs, and a swing. Sun-flowers stood sentinel 
at the door, vines ran over it, and little beds of 
flowers were planted on either side. Paths were 
dug all round the lawn, and a baby-carriage was 
rolled up and down to harden them. The neigh- 
bors wondered what was coming next, and one 
June day they found out; for a procession ap- 
peared, escorting the new tenant to the red man- 
sion, with great rejoicing among the boys. 

First came Billy blowing the horn, then Ned 
waving their best banner, then Hal drawing the 
baby wagon, in which, as on a throne, sat the 
little cousin who had come to spend the summer, 
and rule over them like a small, sweet tyrant. 
A very sprightly damsel was four-year-old 
Queenie, blue-eyed, plump, and rosy, with a 
cloud of yellow curls, chubby arms that embraced 
every one, and a pair of stout legs that trotted 
all day. She surveyed her kingdom with cries 


2 00 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

of delight, and took possession of mine tot- 
tage ” at once, beginning housekeeping by a 
tumble out of the swing, a header into the red 
chest, and a pinch in the leaf of the table. But 
she won great praise from the boys by making 
light of these mishaps, and came up smiling, with 
a bump on her brow, a scratch on her pug nose, 
and a bruise on one fat finger, and turned out 
tea for the gentlemen as if she had done it all 
her life; for the table was set, and all manner 
of tiny cakes and rolls stood ready to welcome 
her. 

This was only the beginning of tea parties; 
for very soon a flock of lovely little friends came 
to play with Queenie, and such pretty revels went 
on it seemed as if fairies had taken possession 
of the small house. Dolls had picnics, kittens 
went a-visiting, tin carts rattled up and down, 
gay balloons flew about, pigmy soldiers toddled 
round the paths in paper caps, and best of all, 
rosy little girls danced on the grass, picked the 
flowers, chased butterflies, and sang as blithely 
as the birds. Queenie took the lead in these 
frolics, and got into no end of scrapes by her 
love of exploration, — often leading her small 
friends into the strawberry-bed, down the road, 
over the wall, or to some neighbor’s house, coolly 
demanding a dint a water and dingerbed for 
all us ones.” 

Guards were set, bars and locks put up, orders 
given, and punishments inflicted, but all in vain; 


The House in the Garden 201 

the dauntless baby always managed to escape, 
and after anxious hunts and domestic flurries, 
would be found up a tree, under the big rhubarb 
leaves, in a hen house, or calmly strolling to 
town without her hat. All sorts of people took 
her to drive at her request, and brought her 
back just as her agitated relatives were flying 
to the river in despair. Once she departed with 
a flock of sheep, and was returned so dirty no 
one knew her till she was scrubbed. Another 
time, she passed the morning in the pig-pen, 
having fallen over the fence; and finding pleas- 
ant society in a dozen young piggies, stayed to 
play with them till discovered among the straw, 
surrounded by her new friends, one of whom 
slept sweetly in her arms. 

We must tie her up,’’ said Mrs. Morton, 
quite worn out with her pranks. 

So a strong cord was put round Queenie’s 
waist, and fastened to one of the rings in the 
little house where Tom used to be chained. At 
first she raged and tugged, then submitted, and 
played about as if she didn’t care; but she laid 
plans in her naughty little mind, and carried 
them out, to the great dismay of Bessie, the 
maid. 

I want to tut drass,” she said in her most 
persuasive tones. 

So Bessie gave her the rusty scissors she was 
allowed to use, and let her play make hay till 
her toy wagon was full. 


2 02 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

I want a dint a water, pease,” was the next 
request, and Bessie went in to get it. She was 
delayed a few moments, and when she came out 
no sign of Queenie remained but a pile of yel- 
low hair cut off in a hurry, and the end of the 
cord. Slyboots was gone, scissors and all. 

Then there was racing and calling, scolding 
and wailing, but no Queenie was to be seen any- 
where on the premises. Poor Bessie ran one 
way. Aunt Morton another, and Billy, who hap- 
pened to be at home, poked into all the nooks 
and corners for the runaway. 

An hour passed, and things began to look 
serious, when Harry came in much excited, and 
laughing so he could hardly speak. 

“ Where do you think that dreadful baby has 
turned up? Over at Pat Floyd’s. He found 
her in the water pipes. You know a lot of those 
big ones are lying in the back street ready to 
use as soon as the place is dug. , Well, that little 
rascal crept in, and then could n’t turn round, 
so she went on till she came out by Pat’s house, 
and nearly scared him out of his wits. The 
pipes were not joined, so she had light and air, 
but I guess she had a hard road to travel. Such 
a hot, dirty, tired baby you never saw. Mrs. 
Floyd is washing her up. You ’d better go and 
get her, Bess.” 

Bess went and returned with naughty Queenie, 
looking as if rats had gnawed her curls off, and 
the sand of the great desert had been ground 



TO KEEP HER AT HOME SHE WAS SET TO FARMING. 

iPage 203 





The House in the Garden 203 

into her hands and knees, — not to mention the 
iron rust that ruined her pretty pink frock, or 
the crown of her hat rubbed to rags. 

I wasn’t frighted. You said Dod be’d all 
wound, so I goed wite alon, and Mis Foyd gived 
me a nice cold tater, and a tootie, and the bid 
dord washed my hands wif his wed tun.” 

That was Queenie’s account of the matter, 
but she behaved so well after it that her friends 
suspected the perilous prank had made a good 
impression upon her. 

To keep her at home she was set to farming, 
and the little house was a barn. In it lived a 
rocking horse, several wooden cows, woolly 
sheep, cats and dogs, as well as a queer col- 
lection of carts and carriages, tools and baskets. 
Every day the busy little farmer dug and hoed, 
planted and watered her ‘‘ dardin,” made hay, 
harvested vegetables, picked fruit, or took care 
of animals, — pausing now and then to ride her 
horse, drive out in her phaeton, or go to an 
imaginary fire with the engine Billy had made 
for her. 

The little friends came to help her, and the 
flower-beds soon looked as if an earthquake had 
upheaved them; for things were planted upside 
down, holes dug, stones piled, and potatoes laid 
about as if expected to dig themselves. But 
cheeks bloomed like roses, small hands got 
brown, and busy feet trotted firmly about the 
paths, while the red barn echoed with the gayest 
laughter all day long. 


204 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

On Queenie’s fifth birthday, in September, she 
had a gipsy party, and all the small neighbors 
came to it. A tent was pitched, three tall poles 
held up a kettle over a “ truly fire '' that made 
the water really boil, and supper was spread on 
the grass. The little girls wore red and blue 
petticoats, gay shawls or cloaks, bright hand- 
kerchiefs on their heads, and as many beads and 
breastpins as they liked. Some had tamborines, 
and shook them as they danced; one carried a 
dolly in the hood of her cloak like a true gipsy, 
and all sung, skipping hand in hand round the 
fire. 

The mammas looked on and helped about sup- 
per, and Bess sat in the tent like an old woman, 
and told pleasant fortunes, as she looked in the 
palms of the soft little hands the children showed 
her. 

They had a charming time, and all remem- 
bered it well; for that night, when the fun was 
over, every one in bed, and the world asleep, a 
great storm came on; the wind blew a gale and 
chimney tops flew off, blinds banged, trees were 
broken, apples whisked from the boughs by the 
bushel, and much mischief was done. But worst 
of all, the dear little house blew away ! The roof 
went in one direction, the boards in another, the 
poor horse lay heels up, and the rest of the ani- 
mals were scattered far and wide over the gar- 
den. 

Great was the lamentation next morning, 


The House in the Garden 205 

when the children saw the ruin. The boys felt 
that it was past mending, and gave it up; while 
Queenie consoled herself for the devastation of 
her farm by the childish belief that a crop of 
new cats and dogs, cows and horses, would come 
up in the spring from the seed sowed broadcast 
by the storm. 

So that was the sad end of the little house 
in the garden. 



* 





DAISrS JEWEL-BOX, AND HOW SHE 
FILLED IT 


“ l^LENTY of time for another. Let the 
little folks go to bed, now they Ve 
had their story, and please go on, 
auntie,” cried Min, when all had listened with 
more interest than they would confess to the 
children’s tale. 

So the small people trotted off, much against 
their will, and this most obliging of aunts drew 
forth another manuscript, saying, as she glanced 
at several of her elder nieces, brave in the new 
trinkets Santa Claus had sent them : — 

“ This is a story with a moral to it, which 
the girls will understand; the boys can take naps 
while I read, for it won’t interest them.” 

If it shows up the girls we shall like it,” 
answered Geoff, and composed himself to hear 
and enjoy 

daisy’s jewel - BOX, AND HOW SHE FILLED IT 

‘‘ It would be perfectly splendid, and just 
what I long for, but I don’t see how I can go 
with nothing fit to wear,” said Daisy, looking 


2o8 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Up from the letter in her hand, with a face full 
of girlish eagerness and anxiety. 

Mrs. Field set every fear at rest with a re- 
assuring smile, as she quietly made one of the 
sacrifices mothers think so small, when made for 
the dear creatures for whom they live. 

You shall go, dear ; I have a little sum put 
by for an emergency. Twenty-five dollars will 
do a good deal, when tastes are simple and we 
do our own dress-making.^’ 

“ But mother, that was for your cloak. You 
need it so much I can’t bear to have you give 
it up,” said sober little Jane, the home-girl, who 
never cared for visiting like her gay elder sister. 

** Hush, dear ; I can do very well with a shawl 
over my old sack. Don’t say a word to spoil 
Daisy’s pleasure. She needs a change after this 
dull autumn, and must be neat and nice.” 

Janey said no more, and fell to thinking what 
she had to offer Daisy ; for both took great pride 
in the pretty girl, who was the queen among her 
young friends. 

Daisy heard, but was so busy re-reading the 
letter that she took no notice then, though she 
recalled the words later. 

‘‘ Come and pass the holidays with us. We 
all want to see you, and Laura begs you will 
not disappoint her.” 

This was the invitation that came from 
Laura’s mother; for the two girls had struck 
up a great friendship during the summer the city 


Daisy’s Jewel-Box 209 

family passed in the little country town where 
Daisy lived. She had ardently hoped that Laura 
would not forget the charming plan, and now 
the cordial message came, just when the season 
would be gayest in town. 

“ I suppose I must have the everlasting white 
muslin for a party dress, as that is the cheapest 
thing a girl can wear. A nun’s-veiling is what 
I long for, but I ’m afraid we can’t afford it,” 
she said with a sigh, coming back from visions 
of city delights to the all-important question of 
dress. 

‘‘ Yes, you can, and new ribbons, gloves, and 
slippers as well. You are so small it does n’t 
take much, and we can make it right up our- 
selves. So run and collect all your finery, while 
I go and do the shopping at once.” 

‘‘You dearest of mothers! how you always 
manage to give me what I want, and smooth all 
my worries away. I ’ll be as good as gold, and 
bring you the best present I can find.” 

Daisy’s grateful kiss warmed the dear 
woman’s heart, and made her forget how 
shabby the old sack was, as she trudged away 
to spend the money carefully hoarded for the 
much needed cloak. 

Needles and fingers flew, and two days before 
Christmas, Daisy set out for the enchanted city, 
feeling very rich with the pretty new dress in 
her trunk, and five dollars for pocket money. It 
seemed a large sum to the country girl, and she 


2 lo Spinning-Wheel Stories 

planned to spend it all in gifts for mother and 
Janey, whose tired faces rather haunted her after 
she had caught the last glimpse of them. 

Her reception was a warm one, for all the 
Vaughns were interested in the blooming little 
creature they had found among the hills, and 
did their best to make her visit a pleasant one. 
The first day she was in a delightful sort of 
maze, things were so splendid, gay and new; 
the second she felt awkward and countrified, 
and wished she had not come. A letter from 
her mother on Christmas morning did her good, 
and gave her courage to bear the little trials 
that afflicted her. 

My clothes do look dowdy beside Laura^s 
elegant costumes, though they did seem very 
nice at home ; but my hair is n’t red, and that ’s 
a comfort,” she said to herself, as she dressed 
for the party that evening. 

She could not help smiling at the bonny figure 
she saw in the long mirror, and wishing mother 
and Janey could see the work of their hands in 
all its glory ; for the simple white dress was most 
becoming, and her kind host had supplied her 
with lovely flowers for bosom and bouquet. 

But the smile died as she took up her one 
ornament, an antique necklace, given her by 
an old aunt. At home it was considered a very 
rare and beautiful thing, and Daisy had been 
rather proud of her rococo chain till she saw 
Laura’s collection of trinkets, the variety and 


2 I I 


Daisy’s Jewel-Box 

brilliancy of which dazzled her eyes, and woke 
a burning desire to possess treasures of the same 
sort. It was some consolation to find that the 
most striking were not very expensive, and after 
poring over them with deep interest, Daisy pri- 
vately resolved to buy as many as her five dol- 
lars would compass. These new ornaments could 
be worn during her visit, and serve as gifts when 
she went home; so the extravagance would not 
be so great as it seemed. 

This purpose comforted her, as she put on the 
old necklace, which looked very dingy beside the 
Rhinestones that flashed, the silver bangles that 
clashed, and the gilded butterflies, spiders, ar- 
rows, flowers, and daggers that shone on the 
young girls whom she met that evening. Their 
fine dresses she could not hope to imitate, but a 
pin and a pair of bracelets were possible, and 
she resolved to have them, if she had to borrow 
money to get home with. 

Her head was quite turned by this desire for 
the cheap trinkets which attract all feminine eyes 
now-a-days, and when, among the pretty things 
that came to her from the Christmas tree that 
night, she received a blue plush jewel-box, she 
felt that it was almost a duty to fill it as soon 
as possible. 

‘Hsn’t it a beauty? I never had one, and it 
is just what I wanted,” said Daisy, delightedly 
lifting the tray full of satin beds for pretty 
things, and pulling out the little drawer under- 
neath, where the giver’s card lay. 


2 12 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

I told papa a work-box or a fan would be 
better; but he liked this and would buy it,” ex- 
plained Laura, who knew how useless it was 
to her friend. 

“ It was very kind of him, and I prefer it to 
either of those. I ’ve nothing but my old chain 
and a shabby little pin to put in it now, but I 'll 
fill it in time,” answered Daisy, whose eyes 
seemed to behold the unbought treasures already 
reposing on the dainty cushion. 

“ Real jewels are the best, my dear, for their 
worth and beauty are never lost. The tinsel 
girls wear now is poor stuff, and money is 
thrown away in buying it,” said Mrs. Vaughn, 
who overheard them and guessed the temptation 
which beset the little country girl. 

Daisy looked conscious, but answered, with a 
smile, and a hand on her necklace, “ This old 
thing would n’t look well in my pretty box, so 
I ’ll leave it empty till I can afford something 
better.” 

But that antique chain is worth many mock 
diamonds; for it is genuine, and its age adds to 
its value. Lovers of such things would pay a 
good price for that and keep it carefully. So 
don’t be ashamed of it, my dear, — though this 
pretty throat needs no ornament,” added Mrs. 
Vaughn, hoping the girl would not forget the 
little lesson she was trying to give her. 

Daisy did not, but when she went to bed, set 
the jewel-box on the table where it would meet 


Daisy’s Jewel-Box 213 

her eyes the first thing in the morning, and then 
fell asleep trying to decide that she would buy 
no baubles, since there were better things to 
spend her money on. 

Nothing more was said; but as the two girls 
went about the gay street on various pleasant 
errands, Daisy never could pass the jewellers’ 
windows without stopping to gloat over the 
trays full of enchanting ornaments. More than 
once, when alone, she went in to inquire the 
prices of these much coveted trifles, and their 
cheapness made the temptation harder to resist. 
Certain things had a sort of fascination for her, 
and seemed to haunt her in an uncanny way, 
giving her no peace till she would decide to buy 
them. A golden rose with a diamond drop of 
dew on its leaves got into her very dreams; an 
enamelled butterfly flew before her as she 
walked, and a pair of silver bangles rattled in 
her ear like goblin castanets. 

“ I shall not be safe till I spend that money, 
so I might as well decide on something and be 
at peace,” said poor Daisy, after some days of 
this girlish struggle ; I need n’t buy anything 
for mother and Janey, for I can share my nice 
and useful presents with them; but I should like 
to be able to show the girls my lovely jewel-box 
with something pretty in it, and I will! Laura 
need n’t know anything about it, for I ’m sure 
she ’d think it silly, and so would her mother. 
I ’ll slip in now and buy that rose ; it ’s only 


2 14 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

three dollars, and the other two will get one 
porte-bonheur, or the dear butterfly.” 

Making her way through the crowd that al- 
ways stood before the brilliant window, Daisy 
went in and demanded the rose; then, rather 
scared by this reckless act she paused, and de- 
cided to look farther before buying anything 
else. With a pleasant little flutter of the heart 
as the pretty trinket was done up, she put her 
hand into her pocket to pay for it, and all the 
color died out of her cheeks when she found 
no purse there. In vain she pulled out handker- 
chief, keys, and pincushion; no sign of money 
was found but a ten-cent piece which had fallen 
out at some time. She looked so pale and dis- 
mayed that the shopman guessed her misfortune 
before she told it, but all the comfort he offered 
was the useless information that the crowded 
corner was a great place for pick-pockets. 

There was nothing to be done but to return 
the rose and go sadly home, feeling that fate 
was very cruel to snatch away this long-coveted 
happiness when so nearly won. Like the milk- 
maid who upset her pail while planning which 
ribbons would become her best, poor Daisy’s 
dreams of splendor came to a sudden end; for 
instead of a golden rose, she was left with only 
ten cents, — and not even a purse to put it in. 

She went home angry, disappointed, and 
ashamed, but too proud to complain, though not 
able to keep the loss to herself ; for it was a sad 


Daisy’s Jewel-Box 215 

affair, and her face betrayed her in spite of her 
efforts to be gay. 

“ I know you were staring at the French dia- 
monds in that corner store. I never can get you 
by there without a regular tug,” cried Laura, 
when the tale was very briefly told. 

“I can’t help it; I’m perfectly fascinated by 
those foolish things, and I know I should have 
bought some ; so it is well that I ’ve lost my 
money, perhaps,” answered Daisy, looking so 
innocently penitent and so frankly disappointed 
that Mr. Vaughn said kindly: — 

So it is, for now I have a chance to com- 
plete my Christmas present. I was not sure it 
would suit so I gave it empty. Please use this 
in buying some of the ‘ fascinating things ’ you 
like so well.” 

A bright ten-dollar gold piece was slipped into 
Daisy’s hand, and she was obliged to keep it, in 
spite of all her protestations that she could live 
without trinkets, and did not need it as her 
ticket home was already bought. Mrs. Vaughn 
added a nice little purse, and Laura advised her 
to keep the lone ten-cent piece for a good-luck 
penny. 

“ Now I can do it with a free mind, and fill 
my box as Mr. Vaughn wishes me to. Won’t 
it be fun ? ” thought Daisy, as she skipped up- 
stairs after dinner, with a load of care lifted 
from her spirits. 

Laura was taking a music lesson, so her guest 


2i6 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

went to the sewing-room to mend the facing of 
her dress, which some one had stepped on while 
she stood in that fatal crowd. A seamstress was 
there, sewing as if for a wager, and while Daisy 
stitched her braid she wondered if there was 
any need of such haste; for the young woman’s 
fingers flew, a feverish color was in her cheeks, 
and now and then she sighed as if tired or 
worried. 

“ Let me help, if you are in a hurry. Miss 
White. I can sew fast, and know something 
of dressmaking. Please let me. I ’d love to do 
anything for Mrs. Vaughn, she is so kind to 
me,” said Daisy, when her small job was done, 
lingering to make the offer, though an interest- 
ing book was waiting in her room. 

‘‘ Thank you, I guess I can get through by 
dark. I do want to finish, for my mother is sick, 
and needs me as well as the money,” answered 
the needle-woman, pausing to give the girl a 
grateful smile, then stitching away faster than 
ever. 

‘‘ Then I must help. Give me that sleeve to 
sew up, and rest a little. You look dreadfully 
tired, and you ’ve been working all day,” in- 
sisted Daisy. 

That ’s real kind, and it would be a great 
help, if you really like it,” answered Miss White, 
with a sigh of relief as she handed over the 
sleeve, and saw how heartily and helpfully Daisy 
fell to work. 


Daisy’s Jewel-Box 217 

Of course they talked, for the friendly act 
opened both hearts, and did both girls good. 
As the younger listened to the little story of 
love and labor, the gold piece burned in her 
pocket, and tinsel trinkets looked very poor be- 
side the sacrifices so sweetly made by this good 
daughter for the feeble mother whose comfort 
and support she was. 

Our landlord has raised the rent, but I can’t 
move now, for the cold and the worry would kill 
ma ; so I’m tugging away to pay the extra 
money, else he will turn us out, I ’m afraid.” 

“Why don’t you tell Mrs. Vaughn? She 
helps every one, and loves to do it.” 

“ So she does, bless her ! She has done a deal 
for us, and that ’s why I can’t ask for more. I 
won’t beg while I can work, but worry wears 
on me, and if I break down what will become 
of mother? ” 

Poor Mary shook the tears out of her eyes, 
for daylight was going, and she had no time to 
cry; but Daisy stopped to wonder how it would 
seem to be in her place, “ tugging away ” day 
after day to keep a roof over mother. It made 
her heart ache to think of it, and sent her hand 
to her pocket with a joyful sense of power; for 
alms-giving was a new pleasure, and Daisy felt 
very rich. 

“ I ’ve had a present to-day, and I ’d love 
dearly to share it with you if you would n’t 
mind. I shall only waste it, so do let me send 


2i8 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

it to your mother in any shape you like/’ she 
said in a timid, but very earnest way. 

“Oh, Miss Field! I couldn’t do it! you are 
too kind ; I never thought of hinting ” — began 
Mary, quite overcome by this unexpected pro- 
posal. 

Daisy settled the matter by running away to 
the study, where Mr. Vaughn was napping, to 
ask him if he would give her two fives for the 
gold piece. 

“Ah! the fascination is at work, I see; and 
we can’t wait till Monday to buy the pretty 
things. Girls will be girls, and must sow their 
innocent wild oats I suppose. Here, my dear, 
beware of pick-pockets, and good luck to the 
shopping,” said the old gentleman, as he put 
two crisp bills into her hands, with a laugh. 

“ Pick-pockets won’t get this, and I know my 
shopping will prosper now,” answered Daisy, in 
such a happy tone that Mr. Vaughn wondered 
what plan was in the girl’s head to make her 
look so sweet and glad. 

She went slowly up-stairs looking at the two 
bills, which did not seem; half so precious as 
when in the shape of gold. 

“ I wonder if it would be very extravagant 
to give her all of it. I shall do some silly thing 
if I keep it. Her boots were very thin, and she 
coughs, and if she is sick it will be dreadful. 
Suppose I give her five for herself, and five for 
her mother. I ’d love to feel rich and generous 
for once in my life, and give real help.” 


Daisy’s Jewel-Box 219 

The house was very still, and Daisy paused 
at the head of the stairs to settle the point, little 
dreaming that Mrs. Vaughn had heard the talk 
in the sewing-room, and saw her as she stood 
thoughtfully staring at the two bits of paper in 
her hand. 

I should n’t feel ashamed if Mrs. Vaughn 
found me out in this, but I should never dare 
to let her see my bangles and pins, if I got 

them. I know she thinks them silly, especially 
so for me. She said she hoped I ’d set a good 
example to Laura, in the way of simplicity and 
industry. I like that, and so will mother. But 

then, my jewel-box! All empty, and such a 
pretty thing. Oh dear, I wish I could be wise 
and silly at the same time.” 

Daisy sighed, and took a few more steps, then 
smiled, pulled out her purse, and taking the ten- 
cent piece tossed it up, saying: ''Heads, Mary; 
tails, myself.” 

Up flew the bright little coin, and down it 
came with the goddess of liberty uppermost. 

" That settles it ; she shall have the ten, and 
I ’ll be content with the old chain for all my 
jewelry,” said Daisy aloud; and looking much 
relieved she skipped away, leaving the unsus- 
pected observer to smile at her girlish mode of 
deciding the question, and to rejoice over the 
generous nature unspoiled as yet. 

She watched her young guest with new in- 
terest during the next few days; for certain fine 


2 20 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

plans were in her mind, and every trifle helped 
the decision for or against. 

Mary White went smiling home that night 
to rejoice with her feeble mother over the help 
that came so opportunely and so kindly. 

Daisy looked as if her shopping had prospered 
wonderfully, though the old necklace was the 
only ornament she wore; and those who saw her 
happy face at the merry-making thought that she 
needed no other. She danced as if her feet were 
as light as her heart, and enjoyed that party 
more than the first; for no envy spoiled her 
pleasure, and a secret content brightened all the 
world to her. 

But the next day she discovered that tempta- 
tion still had power over her, and she nearly 
spoiled her first self-conquest by the fall which 
is very apt to come after a triumph, to show 
us how hard it is to stand fast, even when small 
Apollyons get in our way. 

She broke the clasp of the necklace, and Mrs. 
Vaughn directed her to a person who mended 
such things. The man examined it with interest, 
and asked its history. Daisy very willingly told 
all she knew, inquiring if it was really valuable. 

‘‘ I ’d give twenty-five dollars for it any time. 
I Ve been trying to get one to go with a pair 
of earrings I picked up, and this is just what I 
want. Of course you don’t care to sell it, 
miss?” he asked, glancing at Daisy’s simple 
dress and rather excited face, for his offer almost 
took her breath away. 


22 1 


Daisy’s Jewel-Box 

She was not sufficiently worldly-wise to see 
that the jeweller wanted it enough to give more 
for it, and to make a good bargain for herself. 
Twenty-five dollars seemed a vast sum, and she 
only paused to collect her wits, before she 
answered eagerly: — 

‘‘Yes, I should like to sell it; I Ve had it so 
long I 'm tired of it, and it ’s all out of fashion. 
Mrs. Vaughn told me some people would be glad 
to get it, because it is genuine. Do you really 
think it is worth twenty-five dollars ? ” 

“ It ’s old, and I shall have to tinker it up ; 
but it matches the earrings so well I am willing 
to pay a good price for it. Will you take the 
money now, miss, or think it over and call 
again?’’ asked the man, more respectfully, after 
hearing Mrs. Vaughn’s name. 

“ I ’ll take it now, if you please, sir. I shall 
leave town in a day or two, and may not have 
time to call again,” said Daisy, taking a half- 
regretful look at the chain, as the man counted 
out the money. 

Holding it fast, she went away feeling that 
this unexpected fortune was a reward for the 
good use she had made of her gold piece. 

“ Now I can buy some really valuable orna- 
ment, and wear it without being ashamed. What 
shall it be? No tinsel for me this time;” and 
she walked by the attractive shop window with 
an air of lofty indifference, for she really was 
getting over her first craze for that sort of thing. 


2 2 2 Spinning - Wheel Stories 

Feeling as if she possessed the power to buy 
real diamonds, Daisy turned toward the great 
jewellers, pausing now and then to look for 
some pretty gift for Janey, bought with her 
own money. 

“ What can I get for mother? She never will 
own that she needs anything, and goes shabby 
so I can be nice. I could get some of those fine, 
thick stockings, hers are all darns, — but they 
might not fit. Flannel is useful, but it is n’t a 
pretty present. What does she need most ? ” 

As Daisy stopped before a great window, full 
of all manner of comfortable garments, her eye 
fell on a fur-lined cloak marked ‘‘$25.” It 
seemed to answer her question like a voice, and 
as she looked at it she heard again the words, — 

“ But, mother, that money was for your cloak, 
and you need it very much.” 

‘‘ Hush, dear, don’t say a word to spoil Daisy’s 
pleasure. I can do very well with a shawl over 
the old sack.” 

How could I forget that ! What a selfish 
girl I am, to be thinking of jewelry, when that 
dear, good mother hasn’t a cloak to her back. 
Daisy Field, I ’m ashamed of you ! Go in and 
buy that nice, warm one at once, and don’t let 
me hear of that ridiculous box again.” 

After this little burst of remorse and self- 
reproach, Daisy took another look ; and prudence 
suggested asking the advice of some more ex- 
perienced shopper than herself, before making 


Daisy’s Jewel-Box 223 

SO important a purchase. As if the fates were 
interested in settling the matter at once, while 
she stood undecided, Mary White came down 
the street with a parcel of work in her hands. 

Just the person! The Vaughns needn’t 
know anything about it; and Mary is a good 
judge.” 

It was pleasant to see the two faces brighten 
as the girls met; rather comical to watch the 
deep interest with which one listened and the 
other explained; and beautiful to hear the grate- 
ful eagerness in Mary’s voice, as she answered 
cordially : — 

Indeed I will! You ’ve been so kind to my 
mother, there ’s nothing I would n’t be glad to 
do for yours.” 

So in they went, and after due consideration, 
the cloak was bought and ordered home, — both 
girls feeling that it was a little ceremony full of 
love and good will; for Mary’s time was money, 
yet she gave it gladly, and Daisy’s purse was left 
empty of all but the good-luck penny, which was 
to bring still greater happiness in unsuspected 
ways. 

Another secret was put away in the empty 
jewel-box, and the cloak hidden in Daisy’s trunk; 
for she felt shy of telling her little business 
transactions, lest the Vaughns should consider 
her extravagant. But the thought of mother’s 
surprise and pleasure warmed her heart, and 
made the last days of her visit the happiest. Be- 


2 24 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

ing a mortal girl she did give a sigh as she tied 
a bit of black velvet round her white throat, in- 
stead of the necklace, which seemed really a 
treasure, now it was gone; and she looked with 
great disfavor at the shabby little pin, worn 
where she had fondly hoped to see the golden 
rose. She put a real one in its place, and never 
knew that her own fresh, happy face was as 
lovely ; for the thought of the two mothers made 
comfortable by her was better than all the pearls 
and diamonds that fell from the lips of the good 
girl in the fairy tale. 

“Let me help you pack your trunk; I love 
to cram things in, and dance on the lid when it 
won’t shut,” said Laura, joining her friend next 
day, just as she had got the cloak-box well hid- 
den under a layer of clothes. 

“ Thank you, I ’m almost done, and rather 
like to fuss over my own things in my own way. 
You won’t mind if I give this pretty box of 
handkerchiefs to mother, will you, dear? I have 
so many things, I must go halves with some one. 
The muslin apron and box of bonbons are for 
Janey, because she can’t wear the gloves, and 
this lovely jabot is too old for her,” said Daisy, 
surveying her new possessions with girlish satis- 
faction. 

“ Do what you like with your own. Mamma 
has a box of presents for your people. She is 
packing it now, but I don’t believe you can get 
it in; your trunk is so much fuller than when 


Daisy’s Jewel-Box 225 

you came. This must go in a safe place, or 
your heart will break,’' and Laura took up the 
jewel-box, adding with a laugh, as she opened 
it, “ you have n’t filled it, after all ! What did 
you do with papa’s gold piece ? ” 

“ That ’s a secret. I ’ll tell some day, but not 
yet,” said Daisy, diving into her trunk to hide 
the color in her cheeks. 

“ Sly thing ! I know you Ve got silver spiders 
and filagree racquets, and Rhine-stone moons 
and stars stowed away somewhere and won’t 
confess it. I wanted to fill this box, but mamma 
said you ’d do it better yourself, so I let it alone; 
but I was afraid you ’d think I was a selfish pig, 
to have a pin for every day in the month and 
never give you one,” said Laura, as she looked 
at the single tarnished brooch reposing on the 
satin cushion. “ Where ’s your chain ? ” she 
added, before Daisy could speak. 

It is safe enough. I ’m tired of it, and don’t 
care if I never see it again.” And Daisy packed 
away, and laughed as she smoothed the white 
dress in its tray, remembering that it was paid 
for by the sale of the old necklace. 

‘‘Give it to me, then. I like it immensely; 
it ’s so odd. I ’ll exchange for anything of mine 
you choose. Will you?” asked Laura, who 
seemed bent on asking inconvenient questions. 

“ I shall have to tell, or she will think me very 
ungrateful,” — and Daisy felt a pang of regret 
even then, for Laura’s offer was a generous one. 


2 26 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

'' Like G. W., ‘ I cannot tell a lie ; ’ so I must 
' fess ’ that I sold the old thing, and spent the 
money for something I wanted very much, — 
not jewelry, but something to give away/’ 

Daisy was spared further confessions by the 
entrance of Mrs. Vaughn, with a box in her 
hand. 

I have room for something more. Give me 
that, Laura, it will just fit in;” and taking the 
little casket, she added, ‘‘ Mary White wants to 
try on your dress, dear. Go at once ; I will help 
Daisy.” 

Laura went, and her mother stood looking 
down at the kneeling girl with an expression of 
affectionate satisfaction which would have puz- 
zled Daisy, had she seen it. 

Has the visit been a pleasant one, my dear? ” 

“ Oh, very ! I can’t thank you enough for the 
good it has done me. I hope I can pay a little 
of the debt next summer, if you come our way 
again,” cried Daisy, looking up with a face full 
of gratitude. 

‘‘We shall probably go to Europe for the 
summer. Laura is a good age for it now, and 
we shall all enjoy it.” 

“How splendid! We shall miss you dread- 
fully, but I ’m glad you are going, and I hope 
Laura will find time to write me now and then. 
I shall want to know how she likes the ‘ foreign 
parts ’ we ’ve talked about so much.” 

“ You shall know. We won’t forget you, my 


Daisy’s Jewel-Box 227 

dear/’ and with a caressing touch on the smiling 
yet wistful face upturned to hers, Mrs. Vaughn 
went away to pack the empty jewel-box, leaving 
Daisy to drop a few irrepressible tears on the 
new gown, over the downfall of her summer 
hopes, and the longings all girls feel for that 
enchanted world that lies beyond the sea. 

‘‘ We shall see you before we go, so we won’t 
gush now,” said Laura, as she bade her friend 
good-by, adding in a whisper, “ Some folks can 
have secrets as well as other folks, and be as sly. 
So don’t think you have all the fun to yourself, 
you dear, good, generous darling.” 

Daisy looked bewildered, and Mrs. Vaughn 
added to her surprise by kissing her very warmly 
as she said: 

I wanted to find a good friend for my 
spoiled girl, and I think I have succeeded.” 

There was no time for explanation, and all 
the way home Daisy kept wondering what they 
meant. But she forgot everything when she saw 
the dear faces beaming at the door, and ran 
straight into her mother’s arms, while Janey 
hugged the trunk till her turn came for some- 
thing better. 

When the first raptures were over, out came 
the cloak; and Daisy was well repaid for her 
little trials and sacrifices when she was folded 
in it as her mother held her close, and thanked 
her as mothers only can. Sitting in its soft 
shelter, she told all about it, and coming to the 


2 28 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

end said, as she took up the jewel-box, unpacked 
with the other generous gifts : — 

“ I have n’t a thing to put in it, but I shall 
value it because it taught me a lesson which I 
hope I never shall forget. See what a pretty 
thing it is;” and opening it, Daisy gave a cry 
of surprise and joy, for there lay the golden 
rose, with Laura’s name and ‘‘ Sub rosa ” on a 
slip of paper. 

The dear thing ! she knew I wanted it, and 
that is what she meant by ' secrets.’ I ’ll write 
and tell her mine to-morrow.” 

Here is something more,” said Janey, who 
had been lifting the tray while her sister ex- 
amined the long-desired flower. 

A pair of real gold bangles shone before her 
delighted eyes, and a card in Mr. Vaughn’s 
handwriting bore these words : “ Handcuffs for 

the thief who stole the pocketbook.” 

Daisy hardly had time to laugh gayly at the 
old gentleman’s joke, when Janey cried out, as 
she opened the little drawer, “ Here’s another ! ” 
It was a note from Mrs. Vaughn, but all 
thought it the greatest treasure of the three, for 
it said briefly, — 

‘‘ Dear Daisy, — Mary told me some of your 
secrets, and I found out the others. Forgive me 
and go to Europe with Laura, in May. Your 
visit was a little test. You stood it well, and we 
want to know more of you. The little box is 


Daisy’s Jewel-Box 229 

not quite empty, but the best jewels are the self- 
denial, sweet charity, and good sense you put in 
yourself. Your friend, 

‘‘A. V.’’ 

Daisy could not speak, and her mother looked 
into the box with eyes full of tender tears, while 
Janey danced about them, clashing the bangles 
like a happy little bayadere, till her sister found 
her voice again. 

Pointing to a great, bright tear that shone on 
the blue velvet, she said, with her cheek against 
her mother’s : “ I always wanted a real diamond, 
and there ’s a more precious one than any I could 
buy. Now I ’m sure my jewel-box is full.” 










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CORNY’S CATAMOUNT 



WO boys sat on the bars, one whittling-, 


the other whistling, — not for want of 


thought by any means, for his brow was 
knit in an anxious frown, and he paused now 
and then to thump the rail, with an impatient 
exclamation. The other lad appeared to be ab- 
sorbed in shaping an arrow from the slender 
stick in his hand, but he watched his neighbor 
with a grin, saying a few words occasionally 
which seemed to add to his irritation, though 
they were in a sympathizing tone. 

“ Oh, well, if a chap can’t do a thing he can’t ; 
and he ’d better give up and say. Beat.” 

But I won’t give up, and I never say ‘ Beat.’ 
I ’m not going to be laughed out of it, and I ’ll 
do what I said I would, if it takes all summer, 
Chris Warner.” 

‘‘ You ’ll have to be pretty spry, then, for 
there ’s only two more days to August,” replied 
the whittler, shutting one eye to look along his 
arrow and see if it was true. 

I intend to be spry, and if you won’t go and 
blab, I ’ll tell you a plan I made last night.” 


232 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

'' Guess you can trust me. I Ve heard about 
a dozen plans now, and never told one of ’em.” 

“ They all failed, so there was nothing to tell. 
But this one is not going to fail, if I die for it. 
I feel that it ’s best to tell some one, because 
it is really dangerous; and if anything should 
happen to me, as is very likely, it would save 
time and trouble.” 

‘‘ Don’t seem to feel anxious a mite. But 
I ’ll stand ready to pick up the pieces, if you 
come to grief.” 

“ Now, Chris, it ’s mean of you to keep on 
making fun when I ’m in dead earnest ; and this 
may be the last thing you can do for me.” 

‘‘Wait till I get out my handkerchief; if 
you ’re going to be affectin’ I may want it. 
Granite’s cheap up here; just mention what 
you ’d like on your tombstone and I ’ll see that 
it ’s done, if it takes my last cent.” 

The big boy in the blue overalls spoke with 
such a comical drawl that the slender city lad 
could not help laughing, and with a slap that 
nearly sent his neighbor off his perch. Corny 
said good-naturedly: 

“ Come now, stop joking and lend a hand, 
and I ’ll do anything I can for you. I Ve set 
my heart on shooting a wildcat, and I know I 
can if I once get a good chance. Mother won’t 
let me go off far enough, so of course I don’t 
do it, and then you all jeer at me. To-morrow 
we are going up the mountain, and I ’m set on 


Corny’s Catamount 233 

trying again, for Abner says the big woods are 
the place to find the ' varmint/ Now you hold 
your tongue, and let me slip away when I think 
we Ve hit the right spot. I ’m not a bit afraid, 
and while the rest go poking to the top, I ’ll 
plunge into the woods and see what I can do.” 

“All right. Better take old Buff; he’ll bring 
you home when you get lost, and keep puss from 
clawing you. You won’t like that part of the 
fun as much as you expect to, maybe,” said 
Chris, with a sly twinkle of the eye, as he 
glanced at Corny and then away to the vast 
forest that stretched far up the mighty moun- 
tain’s side. 

“No, I don’t want any help, and Buff will 
betray me by barking; I prefer to go alone. I 
shall take some lunch and plenty of shot, and 
have a glorious time, even if I don’t meet that 
confounded beast. I will keep dashing in and 
out of the woods as we go; then no one will 
miss me for a while, and when they do you just 
say, ‘ Oh, he ’s all right; he ’ll be along directly,’ 
and go ahead, and let me alone.” 

Corny spoke so confidently, and looked so 
pleased with his plan, that honest Chris could 
not bear to tell him how much danger he would 
run in that pathless forest, where older hunters 
than he had been lost. 

“ Don’t feel as if I cared to tell any lies about 
it, and I don’t advise your goin’ ; but if you ’re 
mad for catamounts, I s'pose I must humor you 


2 34 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

and say nothing". Only bear in mind, Abner and 
I will be along, and if you get into a scrape jest 
give a yell and we ’ll come.” 

''No fear of that; I’ve tramped round all 
summer, and know my way like an Indian. 
Keep the girls quiet, and let me have a good 
lark. I ’ll turn up all right by sundown ; so don’t 
worry. Not a word to mother, mind, or she 
won’t let me go. I ’ll make things straight with 
her after the fun is over.” 

"That ain’t just square; but it’s not my 
funeral, so I won’t meddle. Hope you ’ll have 
first rate sport, and bag a brace of cats. One 
thing you mind, don’t get too nigh before you 
fire; and keep out of sight of the critters as much 
as you can.” 

Chris spoke in a deep whisper, looking so ex- 
cited and impressed by the reckless courage of 
his mate that Corny felt himself a Leather- 
stocking, and went off to tea with his finger on 
his lips, full of boyish faith in his own powers. 
If he had seen Chris dart behind the barn, and 
there roll upon the grass in convulsions of 
laughter, he would have been both surprised 
and hurt. 

No deacon could have been more sober, how- 
ever, than Chris when they met next morning, 
while the party of summer boarders at the old 
farm-house were in a pleasant bustle of prepara- 
tion for the long expected day on the mountain. 
Three merry girls, a pair of small boys, two 


Corny’s Catamount 235 

amiable mammas, Chris and Corny, made up the 
party, with Abner to drive the big wagon drawn 
by Milk and Molasses, the yellow span. 

‘‘ All aboard ! ” shouted our young Nimrod, 
in a hurry to be off, as the lunch-basket was 
handed up, and the small boys packed in the most 
uncomfortable corners, regardless of their arms 
and legs. 

Away they rattled with a parting cheer, and 
peace fell upon the farm-house for a few hours, 
to the great contentment of the good people left 
behind. Corny’s mother was one of them, and 
her last words were, — A pleasant day, dear. 
I wish you ’d leave that gun at home ; I ’m so 
afraid you ’ll get hurt with it.” 

‘‘No fun without it. Don’t worry, mammy; 
I ’m old enough to take care of myself.” 

“ I ’ll see to him, ma’am,” called Chris, as he 
hung on behind, and waved his old straw hat, 
with a steady, reliable sort of look, that made the 
anxious lady feel more comfortable. 

“We are going to walk up, and leave the 
horses to rest; so I can choose my time. See, 
I ’ve got a bottle of cold tea in this pocket, and 
a lot of grub in the other. No danger of my 
starving, is there ? ” whispered Corny, as he 
leaned over to Chris, who sat, apparently, on 
nothing, with his long legs dangling into space. 

“ Should n’t wonder if you needed every mite 
of it. Hunting is mighty hard work on a hot 
day, and this is going to be a blazer,” answered 


236 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Chris, pulling his big straw hat lower over his 
eyes. 

As we intend to follow Corny’s adventures, 
we need not pause to describe the drive, which 
was a merry one ; with girls chattering, mammas 
holding on to excited small boys, in danger of 
flying out at every jolt, Abner joking till every 
one roared. Corny’s dangerous evolutions with 
the beloved gun, and the gymnastic feats Chris 
performed, jumping off to pick flowers for the 
ladies, and getting on again while Milk and 
Molasses tore up and down the rough road as 
if they enjoyed it. 

About ten o’clock they reached the foot of the 
mountain; and after a short rest at the hotel, 
began the three-mile ascent in high spirits. 
Abner was to follow later with the wagon, to 
bring the party down; so Chris was guide, as 
he knew the way well, and often came with peo- 
ple. The girls and younger boys hurried on, full 
of eagerness to reach the top. The ladies went 
more slowly, enjoying the grand beauty of the 
scene, while Chris carried the lunch-basket, and 
Corny lingered in the rear, waiting for a good 
chance to plunge.” 

He wanted to be off before Abner came, as he 
well knew that wise man and mighty hunter 
would never let him go alone. 

The very next path I see, I ’ll dive in and 
run; Chris can’t leave the rest to follow, and 
if I once get a good start, they won’t catch me 


Corny’s Catamount 237 

in a hurry/’ thought the boy, longing to be free 
and alone in the wild woods that tempted him on 
either hand. 

Just as he was tightening his belt to be ready 
for the run, Mrs. Barker, the stout lady, called 
him; and being a well-bred lad, he hastened at 
once to see what she wanted, feeling that he was 
the only gentleman in the party. 

“ Give me your arm, dear ; I ’m getting very 
tired, and fear I can’t hold out to the top, with- 
out a little help,” said the poor lady, red and 
panting with the heat, and steepness of the road. 

“ Certainly ma’am,” answered Corny, obeying 
at once, and inwardly resolving to deposit his 
fair burden on the first fallen log they came to, 
and make his escape. 

But Mrs. Barker got on bravely, with the sup- 
port of his strong arm, and chatted away so de- 
lightfully that Corny would really have enjoyed 
the walk, if his soul had not been yearning for 
catamounts. He did his best, but when they 
passed opening after opening into the green re- 
cesses of the wood, and the granite boulders 
grew more and more plentiful, his patience gave 
out, and he began to plan what he could say to 
excuse himself. Chris was behind, apparently 
deaf and blind to his calls and imploring glances, 
though he grinned cheerfully when poor Corny 
looked round and beckoned, as well as he could, 
with a gun on one arm and a stout lady on the 
other. 


238 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

The hardest part is coming now, and we ’d 
better rest a moment. Here ’s a nice rock, and 
the last spring we are likely to see till we get 
to the top. Come on, Chris, and give us the 
dipper. Mrs. Barker wants a drink, and so do 
I,” called the ypung hunter, driven to despair at 
last. 

Up came Chris, and while he rummaged in 
the well-packed basket. Corny slipped into the 
wood, leaving the good lady with her thanks 
half spoken, sitting on a warm stone beside a 
muddy little pool. A loud laugh followed him, 
as he scrambled through the tall ferns and went 
plunging down the steep mountain side, eager to 
reach the lower woods. 

Let him laugh ; it will be my turn when I 
go home, with a fine cat over my shoulder,’^ 
thought Corny, tearing along, heedless of falls, 
scratches, and bruised knees. 

At length he paused for breath, and looked 
about him well satisfied, for the spot was lonely 
and lovely enough to suit any hunter. The tall- 
est pines he ever saw sighed far overhead; the 
ground was ankle deep in moss, and gay with 
scarlet bunch-berries ; every fallen log was veiled 
by sweet-scented Linnea, green vines or nodding 
brakes ; while hidden brooks sang musically, and 
the air was full of the soft flutter of leaves, the 
whir of wings, the sound of birds gossiping 
sweetly in the safe shelter of the forest, where 
human feet so seldom came. 


Corny’s Catamount 239 

I ’ll rest a bit, and then go along down, keep- 
ing a look out for puss by the way,” thought 
Corny, feeling safe and free, and very happy, for 
he had his own way, at last, and a whole day to 
lead the life he loved. 

So he bathed his hot face, took a cool drink, 
and lay on the moss, staring up into the green 
gloom of the pines, blissfully dreaming of the 
joys of a hunter’s life, — till a peculiar cry 
startled him to his feet, and sent him creeping 
warily toward the sound. Whether it was a new 
kind of bird, or a fox, or a bear, he did not know, 
but fondly hoped it was a wild cat; though he 
was well aware that the latter creature sleeps by 
day, and prowls by night. Abner said they 
purred and snarled and gave a mewing sort of 
cry; but which it was now he could not tell, 
having unfortunately been half asleep. 

On he went, looking up into the trees for a 
furry bunch, behind every log, and in every 
rocky hole, longing and hoping to discover his 
heart’s desire. But a hawk was all he saw above, 
an ugly snake was the only living thing he found 
among the logs, and a fat woodchuck’s hind 
legs vanished down the most attractive hole. He 
shot at all three and missed them, so pushed on, 
pretending that he did not care for such small 
game. 

“ Now this is what I call fun,” he said to him- 
self, tramping gayly along, and at that moment 
went splash into a mud-hole concealed under the 


240 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

grass. He sunk up to his knees, and with great 
difficulty got out by clinging to the tussocks that 
grew near. In his struggles the lunch was lost, 
for the bottle broke and the pocket where the 
sandwiches were stored was full of mud. A 
woful spectacle was the trim lad as he emerged 
from the slough, black and dripping in front, 
well spattered behind, hatless, and one shoe gone, 
having been carelessly left unlaced in the ardor 
of the chase. 

'' Here 's a mess ! ” thought poor Corny, sur- 
veying himself with great disgust and feeling 
very helpless, as well as tired, hungry, and mad. 
“ Luckily, my powder is dry and my gun safe ; 
so my fun is n’t spoiled, though I do look like 
a wallowing pig. I Ve heard of mud baths, but 
I never took one before, and I ’ll be shot if I 
do again.” 

So he washed as well as he could, hoping the 
sun would dry him, picked out a few bits of 
bread unspoiled by the general wreck, and 
trudged on with less ardor, though by no means 
discouraged yet. 

I ’m too high for any game but birds, and 
those I don’t want. I ’ll go slap down, and come 
out in the valley. Abner said any brook would 
show the way, and this rascal that led me into 
a scrape shall lead me out,” he said, as he fol- 
lowed the little stream that went tumbling over 
the stones, that increased as the ground sloped 
toward the deep ravine, where a waterfall shone 
like silver in the sun. 


Corny’s Catamount 241 

‘‘ I ’ll take a bath if the pool is big enough, 
and that will set me up. Shouldn’t wonder if 
I ’d got poisoned a bit with some of these vines 
I ’ve been tearing through. My hands smart like 
fury, and I guess the mosquitoes have about 
eaten my face up. Never saw such clouds of 
stingers before,” said Corny, looking at his 
scratched hands, and rubbing his hot face in 
great discomfort, — for it was the gnat that 
drove the lion mad, you remember. 

It was easy to say, I ’ll follow the brook,” 
but not so easy to do it; for the frolicsome 
stream went headlong over rocks, crept under 
fallen logs, and now and then hid itself so clev- 
erly that one had to look and listen carefully to 
recover the trail. It was long past noon when 
Corny came out near the waterfall, so tired and 
hungry that he heartily wished himself back 
among the party, who had lunched well and were 
now probably driving gayly homeward to a good 
supper. 

No chance for a bath appeared, so he washed 
his burning face and took a rest, enjoying the 
splendid view far over valley and intervale 
through the gap in the mountain range. He 
was desperately tired with these hours of rough 
travel, and very hungry; but would not own it, 
and sat considering what to do next, for he saw 
by the sun that the afternoon was half over. 
There was time to go back the way he had come, 
and by following the path down the hill he could 


242 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

reach the hotel and get supper and a bed, or be 
driven home. That was the wise thing to do, 
but his pride rebelled against returning empty- 
handed after all his plans and boasts of great 
exploits. 

I wonh go home, to be laughed at by Chris 
and Abner. I ’ll shoot something, if I stay all 
night. Who cares for hunger and mosquito 
bites? Not I. Hunters can bear more than that, 
I guess. The next live thing I see I ’ll shoot it, 
and make a fire and have a jolly supper. Now 
which way will I go, — up or down ? A pretty 
hard prospect, either way.” 

The sight of an eagle soaring above him 
seemed to answer his question, and fill him with 
new strength and ardor. To shoot the king 
of birds and take him home in triumph would 
cover the hunter with glory. It should be done! 
And away he went, climbing, tumbling, leaping 
from rock to rock, toward the place where the 
eagle had alighted. More cuts and bruises, more 
vain shots, and all the reward of his eager strug- 
gles was a single feather that floated down as the 
great bird soared serenely away, leaving the boy 
exhausted and disappointed in a wilderness of 
granite boulders, with no sign of a path to show 
the way out. 

As he leaned breathless and weary against the 
crag where he had fondly hoped to find the 
eagle’s nest, he realized for the first time what 
a fool-hardy thing he had done. Here he was, 


Corny’s Catamount 243 

alone, without a guide, in this wild region where 
there was neither food nor shelter, and night 
coming on. Utterly used up, he could not get 
home now if he had known the way; and sud- 
denly all the tales he had ever heard of men lost 
in the mountains came into his head. If he had 
not been weak with hunger he would have felt 
better able to bear it ; but his legs trembled under 
him, his head ached with the glare of the sun, 
and a queer faintness came over him now and 
then; for the city lad was unused to such vio- 
lent exercise, plucky as he was. 

The only thing to do now is to get down 
to the valley, if I can, before dark. Abner said 
there was an old cabin, where the hunters used 
to sleep, somewhere round that way. I can try 
for it, and perhaps shoot something on the way. 
May break my bones, but I can’t sit and starve 
up here, and I was a fool to come. I ’ll keep the 
feather anyway, to prove that I really saw an 
eagle ; that ’s better than nothing.” 

Still bravely trying to affect the indifference 
to danger and fatigue which hunters are always 
described as possessing in such a remarkable 
degree, Corny slung the useless gun on his back 
and began the steep descent, discovering now the 
perils he had been too eager to see before. He 
was a good climber, but was stiff with weariness, 
and his hands already sore with scratches and 
poison; so he went slowly, feeling quite unfit 
for such hard work. Coming to the ravine, he 


2 44 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

found the only road was down its precipitous 
side to the valley, that looked so safe and pleas- 
ant now. Stunted pines grew in the fissures of 
the rocks, and their strong roots helped the cling- 
ing hands and feet as the boy painfully climbed, 
slipped, and swung along, fearing every minute 
to come to some impassable barrier in the dan- 
gerous path. 

But he got on wonderfully well, and was feel- 
ing much encouraged, when his foot slipped, the 
root he held gave way, and down he went, rolling 
and bumping to his death on the rocks below, 
he thought, as a crash came, and he knew no 
more. 

Wonder if I’m dead?” was the first idea 
that occurred to him as he opened his eyes and 
saw a brilliant sky above him, all purple, gold, 
and red. 

He seemed floating in the air, for he swayed 
to and fro on a soft bed, a pleasant murmur 
reached his ear, and when he looked down he 
saw what looked like clouds, misty and white, 
below him. He lay a few minutes drowsily mu- 
sing, for the fall had stunned him; then, as he 
moved his hand something pricked it, and he felt 
pine-needles in the fingers that closed over 
them. 

“ Caught in a tree, by Jupiter ! ” and all vis- 
ions of heaven vanished in a breath, . as he sat 
up and stared about him, wide awake now, and 
conscious of many aching bones. 



“ CAUGHT IN A TREE, BY JUPITER.” 


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Corny’s Catamount 245 

Yes, there he lay among the branches of one 
of the sturdy pines, into which he had fallen on 
his way down the precipice. Blessed little tree! 
set there to save a life, and teach a lesson to a 
wilful young heart that never forgot that hour. 

Holding fast, lest a rash motion should set 
him bounding further down, like a living ball, 
Corny took an observation as rapidly as possible, 
for the red light was fading, and the mist rising 
from the valley. All he could see was a narrow 
ledge where the tree stood, and anxious to reach 
a safer bed for the night, he climbed cautiously 
down to drop on the rock, so full of gratitude 
for safety that he could only lie quite still for a 
little while, thinking of mother, and trying not 
to cry. 

He was much shaken by the fall, his flesh 
bruised, his clothes torn, and his spirit cowed; 
for hunger, weariness, pain, and danger, showed 
him what a very feeble creature he was, after 
all. He could do no more till morning, and re- 
signed himself to a night on the mountain side, 
glad to be there alive, though doubtful what day- 
light would show him. Too tired to move, he 
lay watching the western sky, where the sun set 
gloriously behind the purple hills. All below 
was wrapped in mist, and not a sound reached 
him but the sigh of the pine, and the murmur 
of the waterfall. 

‘‘ This is a first-class scrape. What a fool I 
was not to go back when I could, instead of blun- 


2^6 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

dering down here where no one can get at me, 
and as like as not I can’t get out alone! Gun 
smashed in that confounded fall, so I can’t even 
fire a shot to call help. Nothing to eat or drink, 
and very likely a day or so to spend here till I ’m 
found, if I ever am. Chris said, ‘ Yell, if you 
want us.’ Much good that would do now ! I ’ll 
try, though.” And getting up on his weary legs. 
Corny shouted till he was hoarse ; but echo alone 
answered him, and after a few efforts he gave 
it up, trying to accept the situation like a man. 
As if kind Nature took pity on the poor boy, the 
little ledge was soft with lichens and thin grass, 
and here and there grew a sprig of checkerberry, 
sown by the wind, sheltered by the tree, and 
nourished by the moisture that trickled down the 
rock from some hidden spring. Eagerly Corny 
ate the sweet leaves to stay the pangs of hunger 
that gnawed him, and finished his meal with grass 
and pine-needles, calling himself a calf, and wish-- 
ing his pasture were wider. 

The fellows we read about always come to 
grief in a place where they can shoot a bird, catch 
a fish, or knock over some handy beast for sup- 
per,” he said, talking to himself for company. 

Even the old chap lost in the bush in Australia 
had a savage with him who dug a hole in a tree, 
and pulled out a nice fat worm to eat. I ’m not 
lucky enough even to find a sassafras bush to 
chew, or a bird’s egg to suck. My poor gun is 
broken, or I might bang away at a hawk, and 


Corny’s Catamount 247 

cook him for supper, if the bog did n’t spoil my 
matches as it did my lunch. Oh, well ! I ’ll pull 
through, I guess, and when it ’s all over, it will 
be a jolly good story to tell.” 

Then, hoping to forget his woes in sleep, he 
nestled under the low-growing branches of the 
pine, and lay blinking drowsily at the twilight 
world outside. A dream came, and he saw the 
old farm-house in sad confusion, caused by his 
absence, — the women crying, the men sober, 
all anxious, and all making ready to come and 
look for him. So vivid was it that he woke him- 
self by crying out, “ Here I am ! ” and nearly 
went over the ledge, stretching out his arms to 
Abner. 

The start and the scare made it hard to go to 
sleep again, and he sat looking at the solemn sky, 
full of stars that seemed watching over him 
alone there, like a poor, lost child on the great 
mountain’s stony breast. He had never seen the 
world at that hour before, and it made a deep 
impression on him ; for it was a vast, wild scene, 
full of gloomy shadows below, unknown dangers 
around, and a new sense of utter littleness and 
helplessness, which taught the boy human depend- 
ence upon Heavenly love as no words, even from 
his mother’s tender lips, could have done. 
Thoughts of the suffering his wilfulness had 
given her wrung a few penitent tears from him, 
which he was not ashamed to shed, since only 
the kind stars saw them, and better still, he re- 


248 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

solved to own the fault, to atone for it, and to 
learn wisdom from this lesson, which might yet 
prove to be a very bitter one. 

He felt better after this little breakdown, and 
presently his thoughts were turned from con- 
science to catamounts again; for sounds in the 
woods below led him to believe that the much- 
desired animal was on the prowl. His excited 
fancy painted dozens of them not far away, wait- 
ing to be shot, and there he was, cooped up on 
that narrow ledge, with a broken gun, unable 
even to get a look at them. He felt that it was 
a just punishment, and after the first regret tried 
to comfort himself with the fact that he was 
much safer where he was than alone in the forest 
at that hour, for various nocturnal voices sug- 
gested restless and dangerous neighbors. 

Presently his wakeful eyes saw lights twin- 
kling far off on the opposite side of the ravine, 
and he imagined he heard shouts and shots. But 
the splash of the waterfall, and the rush of the 
night wind deadened the sound to his ear, and 
drowned his own reply. 

They are looking for me, and will never 
think of this strange place. I can’t make them 
hear, and must wait till morning. Poor Chris 
will get an awful scolding for letting me go. 
Don’t believe he told a word till he had to. I ’ll 
make it up to him. Chris is a capital fellow, 
and I just wish I had him here to make things 
jolly,” thought the lonely lad. 


Corny’s Catamount 249 

But soon the lights vanished, the sounds died 
away, and the silence of midnight brooded over 
the hills, seldom broken except by the soft cry 
of an owl, the rustle of the pine, or a louder gust 
of wind as it grew strong and cold. Corny kept 
awake as long as he could, fearing to dream and 
fall; but by-and-by he dropped off, and slept 
soundly till the chill of dawn waked him. 

At any other time he would have heartily en- 
joyed the splendor of the eastern sky, as the red 
glow spread and brightened, till the sun came 
dazzling through the gorge, making the wild soli- 
tude beautiful and grand. 

Now, however, he would have given it all for 
a hot beefsteak and a cup of coffee, as he wet 
his lips with a few drops of ice-cold water, and 
browsed over his small pasture till not a green 
spire remained. He was stiff, and full of pain, 
but daylight and the hope of escape cheered him 
up, and gave him coolness and courage to see 
how best he could accomplish his end. 

The wind soon blew away the mist and let him 
see that the dry bed of a stream lay just below. 
To reach it he must leap, at risk of his bones, 
or find some means to swing down ten or twelve 
feet. Once there, it was pretty certain that by 
following the rough road he would come into the 
valley, from whence he could easily find his way 
home. Much elated at this unexpected good for- 
tune, he took the strap that had slung his gun, 
the leathern belt about his waist, and the strong 


250 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

cords of his pouch, and knotting them together, 
made a rope long enough tO' let him drop within 
two or three feet of the stones below. This he 
fastened firmly round the trunk of the pine, and 
finished his preparations by tying his handker- 
chief to one of the branches, that it might serve 
as a guide for him, a signal for others, and a 
trophy of his grand fall. 

Then putting a little sprig of the evergreen 
tree in his jacket, with a grateful thought of all 
it had done for him, he swung himself off and 
landed safely below, not minding a few extra 
bumps after his late exploits at tumbling. 

Feeling like a prisoner set free, he hurried as 
fast as bare feet and stiff legs would carry him 
along the bed of the stream, coming at last into 
the welcome shelter of the woods, which seemed 
more beautiful than ever, after the bleak region 
of granite in which he had been all night. 

Anxious to report himself alive, and relieve 
his mother’s anxiety, he pressed on till he struck 
the path, and soon saw, not far away, the old 
cabin Abner had spoken of. Just before this 
happy moment he had heard a shot fired some- 
where in the forest, and as he hurried toward 
the sound he saw an animal dart into the hut, as 
if for shelter. 

Whether it was a rabbit, woodchuck or dog, 
he had not seen, as a turn in the path prevented 
a clear view ; and hoping it was old Buff looking 
for him, he ran in, to find himself face to face 
with a catamount at last. 


Corny’s Catamount 251 

There she was, the big, fierce cat, crouched in 
a corner, with fiery eyes, growling and spitting 
at sight of an enemy, but too badly wounded to 
fight, as the blood that dripped from her neck, 
and the tremble of her limbs plainly showed. 

Now 's my chance! Don’t care who shot 
her, I ’ll kill her, and have her too, if I pay my 
last dollar,” thought Corny; and catching up a 
stout bit of timber fallen from the old roof, he 
struck one quick blow, which finished poor puss, 
who gave up the ghost with a savage snarl, and 
a vain effort to pounce on him. 

This splendid piece of good luck atoned for 
all the boy had gone through, and only waiting 
to be sure the beast was quite dead and past claw- 
ing, he flung his prize over his shoulder, and with 
renewed strength and spirit trudged along the 
woodland road toward home, proudly imagining 
his triumphal entry upon the scene of suspense 
and alarm. 

Wish I didn’t look so like a scare-crow; 
but perhaps my rags will add to the effect. 
Won’t the girls laugh at my swelled face, and 
scream at the cat. Poor mammy will mourn 
over me and coddle me up as if I ’d been to the 
wars. Hope some house isn’t very far off, for 
I don’t believe I can lug this brute much farther, 
I ’m so starved and shaky.” 

Just as he paused to take breath and shift his 
burden from one shoulder to the other, a loud 
shout startled him, and a moment after, several 


252 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

men came bursting through the wood, cheering 
like lunatics as they approached. 

It was Abner, Chris, and some of the neigh- 
bors, setting out again on their search, after a 
night of vain wandering. Corny could have 
hugged them all and cried like a girl; but pride 
kept him steady, though his face showed his joy 
as he nodded his hatless head with a cool — 

“ Hullo 

Chris burst into his ringing laugh, and danced 
a wild sort of jig round his mate, as the only 
way in which he could fitly express his relief ; for 
he had been so bowed down with remorse at his 
imprudence in letting Corny go that no one could 
find the heart to blame him, and all night the poor 
lad had rushed up and down seeking, calling, 
hoping, and fearing, till he was about used up, 
and looked nearly as dilapidated as Corny. 

The tale was soon told, and received with the 
most flattering signs of interest, wonder, sympa- 
thy, and admiration. 

Why in thunder did n't you tell me ? — and 
I 'd a got up a hunt wuth havin', — not go 
stramashing off alone on a wild goose chase like 
this. Never did see such a chap as you be for 
gittin' inter scrapes, — and out of 'em too, I 'm 
bound to own," growled Abner. 

“That isn't a wild goose, is it?" proudly 
demanded Corny, pointing to the cat, which now 
lay on the ground, while he leaned against a tree 
to hide his weariness ; for he felt ready to drop, 
now all the excitement was over. 


Corny’s Catamount 253 

No it ain’t, and I congratulate you on a good 
job. Where did you shoot her?” asked Abner, 
stooping to examine the creature. 

‘‘Didn’t shoot her; broke my gun when I 
took that header down the mountain. I hit her 
a rap with a club, in the cabin where I found 
her,” answered Corny, heartily wishing he need 
not share the prize with any one. But he was 
honest, and added at once, “ Some one else had 
put a bullet into her; I only finished her off.” 

“ Chris did it ; he fired a spell back and see 
the critter run, but we was too keen after you 
to stop for any other game. Guess you ’ve had 
enough of catamounts for one spell, hey?” and 
Abner laughed as he looked at poor Corny, who 
was a more sorry spectacle than he knew, — 
ragged and rough, hatless and shoeless, his face 
red and swelled with the poisoning and bites, his 
eyes heavy with weariness, and in his mouth a 
bit of wild-cherry bark which he chewed rav- 
enously. 

“No, I haven’t! I want this one, and will 
buy it if Chris will let me. I said I ’d kill one, 
and I did, and want to keep the skin ; for I ought 
to have something to show after all this knock- 
ing about and turning somersaults half a mile 
long,” answered Corny stoutly, as he tried to 
shoulder his load again. 

“ Here, give me the varmint, and you hang on 
to Chris, my boy, or we ’ll have to cart you home. 
You ’ve done first-rate, and now you want a good 


2 54 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

meal of vittles to set you up. Right about face, 
neighbors, and home we go, to the tune of Hail 
Columby.’’ 

As Abner spoke, the procession set forth. The 
tall, jolly man, with the dead animal at his back, 
went first ; then Corny, trying not to lean on the 
arm Chris put round him, but very glad of the 
support; next the good farmers, all talking at 
once; while old Buff soberly brought up the 
rear, with his eye on the wildcat, well knowing 
that he would have a fine feast when the hand- 
some skin was off. 

In this order they reached home, and Corny 
tumbled into his mother’s arms, to be no more 
seen for some hours. What went on in her room, 
no one knows ; but when at last the hero emerged, 
refreshed by sleep and food, clad in clean clothes, 
his wounds bound up, and plantain-leaves dipped 
in cream spread upon his afflicted countenance, he 
received the praises and congratulations show- 
ered upon him very meekly. He made no more 
boasts of skill and courage that summer, set out 
on no more wild haunts, and gave up his own 
wishes so cheerfully that it was evident some- 
thing had worked a helpful change in wilful 
Corny. 

He liked to tell the story of that day and night 
when his friends were recounting adventures by 
sea and land; but he never said much about the 
hours on the ledge, always owned that Chris 
shot the beast, and usually ended by sagely ad- 


Corny’s Catamount 255 

vising his hearers to let their mothers know, when 
they went off on a lark of that kind. Those who 
knew and loved him best observed that he was 
fonder than ever of nibbling checkerberry leaves, 
that he did n’t mind being laughed at for liking 
to wear a bit of pine in his buttonhole, and that 
the skin of the catamount so hardly won lay be- 
fore his study table till the moths ate it up. 


















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THE COOKING - CLASS 


A YOUNG girl in a little cap and a big 
apron sat poring over a cook-book, with 
a face full of the deepest anxiety. She 
had the kitchen to herself, for mamma was out 
for the day, cook was off duty, and Edith could 
mess to her heart’s content. She belonged to 
a cooking-class, the members of which were to 
have a lunch at two p. m. with the girl next door; 
and now the all absorbing question was, what 
to make. Turning the pages of the well-used 
book, she talked to herself as the various receipts 
met her eye. 

Lobster-salad and chicken-croquettes I Ve 
had, and neither were very good. Now I want 
to distinguish myself by something very nice. 
I ’d try a meat-porcupine or a mutton-duck if 
there was time; but they are fussy, and ought 
to be rehearsed before given to the class. Ba- 
varian cream needs berries and whipped cream, 
and I won't tire my arms beating eggs. Apricots 
d la Neige is an easy thing and wholesome, but 
the girls won’t like it, I know, as well as some 
rich thing that will make them ill, as Carrie’s 
plum-pudding did. A little meat dish is best for 


258 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

lunch. I ’d try sweetbreads and bacon, if I 
did n’t hate to burn my face and scent my 
clothes, frying. Birds are, elegant; let me see 
if I can do larded grouse. No, I don’t like to 
touch that cold, fat stuff. How mortified Ella 
was, when she had birds on toast and forgot to 
draw them. I should n’t make such a blunder 
as that, I do hope. Potted pigeons — the very 
thing! Had that in our last lesson, but the girls 
are all crazy about puff-paste, so they won’t try 
pigeons. Why did n’t I think of it at once ? — 
for we ’ve got them in the house, and don’t want 
them to-day, mamma being called away. All 
ready too; so nice! I do detest to pick and 
clean birds. ‘ Simmer from one to three hours.’ 
Plenty of time. I ’ll do it ! I ’ll do it ! La, 
la, la!” 

And away skipped Edith in high spirits, for 
she did not love to cook, yet wished to stand 
well with the class, some members of which were 
very ambitious, and now and then succeeded 
with an elaborate dish, more by good luck than 
skill. 

Six plump birds were laid out on a platter, 
with their legs folded in the most pathetic man- 
ner; these Edith bore away in triumph to the 
kitchen, and opening the book before her went 
to work energetically, resigning herself to frying 
the pork and cutting up the onion, which she had 
overlooked when hastily reading the receipt. In 
time they were stuffed, the legs tied down to the 


The Cooking - Class 259 

tails, the birds browned in the stew-pan, and 
put to simmer with a pinch of herbs. 

“ Now I can clear up, and rest a bit. If I 
ever have to work for a living I won't be a 
cook,’’ said Edith, with a sigh of weariness as 
she washed her dishes, wondering how there 
could be so many; for no careless Irish girl 
would have made a greater clutter over this 
small job than the young lady who had not yet 
learned one of the most important things that 
a cook should know. 

The bell rang just as she got done, and was 
planning to lie and rest on the dining-room sofa 
till it was time to take up her pigeons. 

** Tell whoever it is that I ’m engaged,” she 
whispered, as the maid passed, on her way to 
the door. 

It ’s your cousin, miss, from the country, 
and she has a trunk with her. Of course she ’s 
to come in ? ” asked Maria, coming back in a 
moment. 

Oh, dear me ! I forgot all about Patty. 
Mamma said any day this week, and this is the 
most inconvenient one of the seven. Of course, 
she must come in. Go and tell her I ’ll be there 
in a minute,” answered Edith, too well bred not 
to give even an unwelcome guest a kindly greet- 
ing. 

Whisking off cap and apron, and taking a 
last look at the birds, just beginning to send 
forth a savory steam, she went to meet her 
cousin. 


2 6o Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Patty was a rosy, country lass of sixteen, 
plainly dressed and rather shy, but a sweet, sen- 
sible little body, with a fresh, rustic air which 
marked her for a field-flower at once. 

“ How do you do, dear? so sorry mamma is 
away; called to a sick friend in a hurry. But 
I ’m here and glad to see you. I Ve an engage- 
ment at two, and you shall go with me. It 's 
only a lunch close by, just a party of girls; I ’ll 
tell you about it up-stairs.” 

Chatting away, Edith led Patty up to the 
pretty room ready for her, and soon both were 
laughing over a lively account of the exploits 
of the cooking-class. Suddenly, in the midst of 
the cream-pie which had been her great success, 
and nearly the death of all who partook thereof, 
Edith paused, sniffed the air like a hound, and 
crying tragically, They are burning I They 
are burning ! ” rushed down stairs as if the house 
was on fire. 

Much alarmed, Patty hurried after her, 
guided to the kitchen by the sound of lamenta- 
tion. There she found Edith hanging over a 
stew-pan, with anguish in her face and despair 
in her voice, as she breathlessly explained the 
cause of her flight. 

'' My pigeons ! Are they burnt ? Do smell 
and tell me? After all my trouble I shall be 
heart-broken if they are spoilt.” 

Both pretty noses sniffed and sniffed again 
as the girls bent over the pan, regardless of the 


The Cooking- Class 261 

steam which was ruining their crimps and red- 
dening their noses. Reluctantly, Patty owned 
that a slight, flavor of scorch did pervade the air, 
but suggested that a touch more seasoning would 
conceal the sad fact. 

I ’ll try it. Did you ever do any ? Do you 
love to cook? Don’t you want to make some- 
thing to carry? It would please the girls, and 
make up for my burnt mess,” said Edith, as she 
skimmed the broth and added pepper and salt 
with a lavish hand : — 

“ I don’t know anything about pigeons, ex- 
cept to feed and pet them. We don’t eat ours. 
I can cook plain dishes, and make all kinds of 
bread. Would biscuit or tea-cake do?” 

Patty looked so pleased at the idea of con- 
tributing to the feast, that Edith could not bear 
to tell her that hot biscuit and tea-cake were not 
just the thing for a city lunch. She accepted the 
offer, and Patty fell to work so neatly and skil- 
fully that, by the time the pigeons were done, 
two pans full of delicious little biscuit were 
baked, and, folded in a nice napkin, lay ready 
to carry off in the porcelain plate with a wreath 
of roses painted on it. 

In spite of all her flavoring, the burnt odor 
and taste still lingered round Edith’s dish; but 
fondly hoping no one would perceive it, she 
dressed hastily, gave Patty a touch here and 
there, and set forth at the appointed time to 
Augusta’s lunch. 


262 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Six girls belonged to this class, and the rule 
was for each to bring her contribution and set 
it on the table prepared to receive them all; 
then, when the number was complete, the cov- 
ers were raised, the dishes examined, eaten (if 
possible), and pronounced upon, the prize being 
awarded to the best. The girl at whose house the 
lunch was given provided the prize, and they 
were often both pretty and valuable. 

On this occasion a splendid bouquet of Jaque- 
minot roses in a lovely vase ornamented the 
middle of the table, and the eyes of all rested 
admiringly upon it, as the seven girls gathered 
round, after depositing their dishes. 

Patty had been kindly welcomed, and soon 
forgot her shyness in wonder at the handsome 
dresses, graceful manners, and lively gossip of 
the girls. A pleasant, merry set, all wearing the 
uniform of the class, dainty white aprons and 
coquettish caps with many-colored ribbons, like 
stage maid-servants. At the sound of a silver 
bell, each took her place before the covered dish 
which bore her name, and when Augusta said, 
“ Ladies, we will begin,’" off went napkins, sil- 
ver covers, white paper, or whatever hid the con- 
tribution from longing eyes. A moment of deep 
silence, while quick glances took in the prospect, 
and then a unanimous explosion of laughter fol- 
lowed; for six platters of potted pigeons stood 
upon the board, with nothing but the flowers to 
break the ludicrous monotony of the scene. 


The Cooking - Class 263 

How they laughed! for a time they could do 
nothing else, because if one tried to explain she 
broke down and joined in the gale of merriment 
again quite helplessly. One or two got hyster- 
ical and cried as well as laughed, and all made 
such a noise that Augusta’s mamma peeped in 
to see what was the matter. Six agitated hands 
pointed to the comical sight on the table, which 
looked as if a flight of potted pigeons had 
alighted there, and six breathless voices cried in 
a chorus : “ Is n’t it funny? Don’t tell ! ” 

Much amused, the good lady retired to enjoy 
the joke alone, while the exhausted girls wiped 
their eyes and began to talk, all at once. Such 
a clatter ! but out of it all Patty evolved the fact 
that each meant to surprise the rest, — and they 
certainly had. 

I tried puff-paste,” said Augusta, fanning 
her hot face. 

** So did I,” cried the others. 

And it was a dead failure.” 

So was mine,” echoed the voices. 

Then I thought I ’d do the other dish we 
had that day — ” 

** Just what I did.” 

Feeling sure you would all try the pastry, 
and perhaps get on better than I.” 

Exactly our case,” and a fresh laugh ended 
this general confession. 

‘‘ Now we must eat our pigeons, as we have 
nothing else, and it is against the rule to add 


264 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

from outside stores. I propose that we each 
pass our dish round; then we can all criticise 
it, and so get some good out of this very funny 
lunch.” 

Augusta’s plan was carried out; and all being 
hungry after their unusual exertions, the girls 
fell upon the unfortunate birds like so many 
famished creatures. The first one went very 
well, but when the dishes were passed again, 
each taster looked at it anxiously; for none 
were very good, there was nothing to fall back 
upon, and variety is the spice of life, as every 
one knows. 

“ Oh, for a slice of bread,” sighed one dam- 
sel. 

“Why didn’t we think of it?” asked an- 
other. 

“ I did, but we always have so much cake I 
thought it was foolish to lay in rolls,” exclaimed 
Augusta, rather mortified at the neglect. 

“ I expected to have to taste six pies, and one 
doesn’t want bread with pastry, you know.” 

As Edith spoke she suddenly remembered 
Patty’s biscuit, which had been left on the side- 
table by their modest maker, as there seemed to 
be no room for them. 

Rejoicing now over the rather despised dish, 
Edith ran to get it, saying as she set it in the 
middle, with a flourish : — 

“ My cousin’s contribution. She came so late 
we only had time for that. So glad I took the 
liberty of bringing her and them.” 


The Cooking- Class 265 

A murmur of welcome greeted the much-de- 
sired addition to the feast, which would have 
been a decided failure without it, and the pretty 
plate went briskly round, till nothing was left 
but the painted roses in it. With this help the 
best of the potted pigeons were eaten, while a 
lively discussion went on about what they would 
have next time. 

“ Let us each tell our dish, and not change. 
We shall never learn if we don’t keep to one 
thing till we do it well. I will choose mince-pie, 
and bring a good one, if it takes me all the week 
to do it,” said Edith, heroically taking the hard- 
est thing she could think of, to encourage the 
others. 

Fired by this noble example, each girl pledged 
herself to do or die, and a fine list of rich dishes 
was made out by these ambitious young cooks. 
Then a vote of thanks to Patty was passed, her 
biscuit unanimously pronounced the most suc- 
cessful contribution, and the vase presented to 
the delighted girl, whose blushes were nearly as 
deep as the color of the flowers behind which 
she tried to hide them. 

Soon after this ceremony the party broke up, 
and Edith went home to tell the merry story, 
proudly adding that the country cousin had won 
the prize. 

“ You rash child, to undertake mince-pie. It 
is one of the hardest things to make, and about 
the most unwholesome when eaten. Read the 


2 66 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

receipt and see what you have pledged yourself 
to do, my dear,” said her mother, much amused 
at the haps and mishaps of the cooking-class. 

Edith opened her book and started bravely 
off at “ Puff-paste ; ” but by the time she had 
come to the end of the three pages devoted to 
directions for the making of that indigestible 
delicacy, her face was very sober, and when she 
read aloud the following receipt for the mince- 
meat, despair slowly settled upon her like a 
cloud. 

“One cup chopped meat; cups raisins; 

ij4 cups currants; cups brown sugar; 
cups molasses; 3 cups chopped apples; i cup 
meat liquor; 2 teaspoonfuls salt; 2 teaspoon- 
fuls cinnamon; teaspoonful mace; tea- 
spoonful powdered cloves; i lemon, grated; 
piece citron, sliced ; cup brandy ; 34 cup wine ; 

3 teaspoonfuls rose-water. 

“Oh me, what a job! I shall have to work 
at it every day till next Saturday, for the paste 
alone will take all the wits I Ve got. I was rash, 
but I spoke without thinking, and wanted to do 
something really fine. We can't be shown about 
things, so I must blunder along as well as I 
can,” groaned Edith. 

“ I can help about the measuring and weigh- 
ing, and chopping. I always help mother at 
Thanksgiving time, and she makes splendid pies. 
We only have mince then, as she thinks it 's bad 
for us,” said Patty, full of sympathy and good 
will. 


The Cooking- Class 267 

“ What are you to take to the lunch ? ” asked 
Edith’s mother, smiling at her daughter’s 
mournful face, bent over the fatal book full of 
dainty messes, that tempted the unwary learner 
to her doom. 

“ Only coffee. I can’t make fancy things, but 
my coffee is always good. They said they 
wanted it, so I offered.” 

“ I will have my pills and powders ready, for 
if you all go on at this rate you will need a dose 
of some sort after your lunch. Give your or- 
ders, Edith, and devote your mind to the task. 
I wish you good luck and good digestion, my 
dears.” 

With that the mamma left the girls to cheer 
one another, and lay plans for a daily lesson 
till the perfect pie was made. 

They certainly did their best, for they began 
on Monday, and each morning through the week 
went to the mighty task with daily increasing 
courage and skill. They certainly needed the 
former, for even good-natured Nancy got tired 
of having the young ladies messing round so 
much,” and looked cross as the girls appeared in 
the kitchen. 

Edith’s brothers laughed at the various fail- 
ures which appeared at table, and dear mamma 
was tired of tasting pastry and mince-meat in 
all stages of progression. But the undaunted 
damsels kept on till Saturday came, and a very 
superior pie stood ready to be offered for the 
inspection of the class. 


268 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

‘‘ I never want to see another,’^ said Edith, as 
the girls dressed together, weary, but well sat- 
isfied with their labor; for the pie had been 
praised by all beholders, and the fragrance of 
Patty’s coffee filled the house, as it stood ready 
to be poured, hot and clear, into the best silver 
pot, at the last moment. 

“ Well, I feel as if I ’d lived in a spice mill 
this week, or a pastry-cook’s kitchen; and I am 
glad we are done. Your brothers won’t get any 
pie for a long while I guess, if it depends on 
you,” laughed Patty, putting on the new ribbons 
her cousin had given her. 

“ When Florence’s brothers were here last 
night, I heard those rascals making all sorts of 
fun of us, and Alf said we ought to let them 
come to lunch. I scorned the idea, and made 
their mouths water telling about the good things 
we were going to have,” said Edith, exulting 
over the severe remarks she had made to these 
gluttonous young men, who adored pie, yet 
jeered at unfortunate cooks. 

Florence, the lunch-giver of the week, had 
made her table pretty with a posy at each place, 
put the necessary roll in each artistically folded 
napkin, and hung the prize from the gas burner, 
— a large blue satin bag full of the most de- 
licious bonbons money could buy. There was 
some delay about beginning, as one distracted 
cook sent word that her potato-puffs would n't 
brown, and begged them to wait for her. So 


The Cooking - Class 269 

they adjourned to the parlor, and talked till the 
flushed, but triumphant Ella arrived with the 
puffs in fine order. 

When all was ready, and the covers raised, an- 
other surprise awaited them; not a merry one, 
like the last, but a very serious affair, which pro- 
duced domestic warfare in two houses at least. 
On each dish lay a card bearing a new name for 
these carefully prepared delicacies. The mince- 
pie was re-christened Nightmare,” veal cutlets 
Dyspepsia,” escalloped lobster “ Fits,” lemon 
sherbet “ Colic,” coffee “ Palpitation,” and so 
on, even to the pretty sack of confectionery 
which was labelled “ Toothache.” 

Great was the indignation of the insulted 
cooks, and a general cry of Who did it ? ” 
arose. The poor maid who waited on them de- 
clared with tears that not a soul had been in, 
and she herself only absent five minutes getting 
the ice-water. Florence felt that her guests had 
been outraged, and promised to find out the 
wretch, and punish him or her in the most ter- 
rible manner. So the irate young ladies ate 
their lunch before it cooled, but forgot to crit- 
icise the dishes, so full were they of wonder at 
this daring deed. They were just beginning to 
calm down, when a loud sneeze caused a general 
rush toward the sofa that stood in a recess of 
the dining room. A small boy, nearly suffo- 
cated with suppressed laughter, and dust, was 
dragged forth and put on trial without a mo- 


270 Spinning-Wheel Stories 


merit’s delay. Florence was judge, the others 
jury, and the unhappy youth being penned in a 
corner, was ordered to tell the truth, the whole 
truth, and nothing but the truth, on penalty of 
a sound whipping with the big Japanese war- 
fan that hung on the wall over his head. 

Vainly trying to suppress his giggles, Phil 
faced the seven ladies like a man, and told as 
little as possible, delighting to torment them, 
like a true boy. 

Do you know who put those cards there ? ” 
Don’t you wish you did ? ” 

Phil Gordon, answer at once.” 

Yes, I do.” 

‘‘Was it Alf? He’s at home Saturdays, and 
it’s just like a horrid Harvard Soph to plague 
us so.” 

“ It was — not.” 

“ Did you see it done ? ” 

“ I did.” 


“ Man, or woman? Mary fibs, and may have 
been bribed.” 

“ Man,” with a chuckle of great glee. 

“ Do I know him? ” 

“Oh, don’t you!” 

“Edith’s brother Rex?” 

“ No, ma’am.” 

“ Do be a good boy, and tell us. We won’t 


scold, though it was a very, very rude thing to 
do.” 


“ What will you give me ? ” 


The Cooking- Class 271 

‘‘ Do you need to be bribed to do your duty? ” 

“ Well, I guess it ’s no fun to hide in that 
stuffy place, and smell nice grub, and see you 
tuck away without offering a fellow a taste. 
Give me a good go at the lunch, and I ’ll see 
what I can do for you.” 

“ Boys are such pigs! Shall we, girls?” 

“ Yes, we must know.” 

Then go and stuff, you bad boy, but we shall 
stand guard over you till you tell us who wrote 
and put those insulting cards here.” 

Florence let out the prisoner, and stood by 
him while he ate, in a surprisingly short time, 
the best of everything on the table, well know- 
ing that such a rare chance would not soon be 
his again. 

‘‘ Now give me some of that candy, and I ’ll 
tell,” demanded the young Shylock, bound to 
make the best of his power while it lasted. 

‘‘Did you ever see such a little torment? I 
can’t give the nice bonbons, because we have n’t 
decided who is to have them.” 

“ Never mind. Pick out a few and get rid 
of him,” cried the girls, hovering round their 
prey, and longing to shake the truth out of 
him. 

A handful of sweeties were reluctantly be- 
stowed, and then all waited for the name of the 
evil-doer with breathless interest. 

“ Well,” began Phil, with exasperating slow- 
ness, “ Alf wrote the cards, and gave me half a 


272 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

dollar to put ’em round. Made a nice thing of 
it, have n’t I ? ” and before one of the girls could 
catch him he had bolted from the room, with 
one hand full of candy, the other of mince-pie, 
and his face shining with the triumphant glee 
of a small boy who has teased seven big girls, 
and got the better of them. 

What went on just after that is not recorded, 
though Phil peeped in at the windows, hooted 
through the slide, and beat a tattoo on the vari- 
ous doors. The opportune arrival of his mother 
sent him whooping down the street, and the dis- 
tressed damsels finished their lunch with what 
appetite they could. 

Edith got the prize, for her pie was pro- 
nounced a grand success, and partaken of so 
copiously that several young ladies had reason 
to think it well named “ Nightmare ” by the de- 
risive Alfred. Emboldened by her success, 
Edith invited them all to her house on the next 
Saturday, and suggested that she and her cousin 
provide the lunch, as they had some new dishes 
to offer, not down in the receipt-book they had 
been studying all winter. 

As the ardor of the young cooks was some- 
what damped by various failures, and the dis- 
covery that good cooking is an art not easily 
learned, anything in the way of novelty was 
welcome; and the girls gladly accepted the in- 
vitation, feeling a sense of relief at the thought 
of not having any dish to worry about, though 


The Cooking- Class 273 

not one of them owned that she was tired of 
‘‘ messing,” as the disrespectful boys called it. 

It was unanimously decided to wither with 
silent scorn the audacious Alfred and his ally, 
Rex, while Phil was to be snubbed by his sister 
till he had begged pardon for his share of the 
evil deed. Then, having sweetened their tongues 
and tempers with the delicious bonbons, the girls 
departed, feeling that the next lunch would be 
an event of unusual interest. 

The idea of it originated in a dinner which 
Patty got one day, when Nancy, who wanted a 
holiday, was unexpectedly called away to the 
funeral of a cousin, — the fifth relative who had 
died in a year, such was the mortality in the 
jovial old creature’s family. Edith’s mother was 
very busy with a dressmaker, and gladly ac- 
cepted the offer the girls made to get dinner 
alone. 

“ No fancy dishes, if you please ; the boys 
come in as hungry as hunters, and want a good 
solid meal; so get something wholesome and 
plain, and plenty of it,” was the much-relieved 
lady’s only suggestion, as she retired to the 
sewing-room and left the girls to keep house 
in their own way. 

“ Now, Edie, you be the mistress and give 
your orders, and I ’ll be cook. Only have things 
that go well together, — not all baked or all 
boiled, because there is n’t room enough on the 
range, you know ; ” said Patty, putting on a big 


2 74 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

apron with an air of great satisfaction; for she 
loved to cook, and was tired of doing nothing. 

“ I ’ll watch all yon do, and learn ; so that 
the next time Nancy goes off in a hurry, I can 
take her place, and not have to give the boys 
what they hate, — a picked-up dinner,” answered 
Edith, pleased with her part, yet a little mortified 
to find how few plain things she could make 
well. 

What do the boys like? ” asked Patty, long- 
ing to please them, for they all were very kind 
to her. 

“ Roast beef, and custard pudding, with two 
or three kinds of vegetables. Can we do all 
that?” 

Yes, indeed. I ’ll make the pudding right 
away, and have it baked before the meat goes 
in. I can cook as many vegetables as you please, 
and soup too.” 

So the order was given and all went well, if 
one might judge by the sounds of merriment in 
the kitchen. Patty made her best gingerbread, 
and cooked some apples with sugar and spice for 
tea, and at the stroke of two had a nice dinner 
smoking on the table, to the great contentment 
of the hungry boys, who did eat like hunters, 
and advised mamma to send old Nancy away 
and keep Patty for cook; which complimentary 
but rash proposal pleased their cousin very 
much. 

‘‘Now this is useful cookery, and well done, 


The Cooking- Class 275 

though it looks so simple. Any girl can learn 
how and be independent of servants, if need be. 
Drop your class, Edith, and take a few lessons 
of Patty. That would suit me better than 
French affairs, that are neither economical nor 
wholesome.’’ 

“ I will, mamma, for I ’m tired of creaming 
butter, larding things, and beating eggs. These 
dishes are not so elegant, but we must have 
them; so I may as well learn, if Pat will teach 
me. 

** With pleasure, all I know. Mother thinks 
it a very important part of a girl’s education; 
for if you can’t keep servants you can do your 
own work well, and if you are rich you are not 
so dependent as an ignorant lady is. All kinds 
of useful sewing and housework come first with 
us, and the accomplishments afterward, as time 
and money allow.” 

“ That sort of thing turns out the kind of 
girl I like, and so does every sensible fellow. 
Good luck to you, cousin, and my best thanks 
for a capital dinner and a wise little lecture for 
dessert.” 

Rex made his best bow as he left the table, 
and Patty colored high with pleasure at the 
praise of the tall collegian. 

Out of this, and the talk the ladies had after- 
ward, grew the lunch which Edith proposed, 
and to the preparation of which went much 
thought and care; for the girls meant to have 


276 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

many samples of country fare, so that various 
tastes might be pleased. The plan gradually 
grew as they worked, and a little surprise was 
added, which was a great success. 

When Saturday came the younger boys were 
all packed off for a holiday in the country, that 
the coast might be clear. 

No hiding under sofas in my house, no med- 
dling with my dinner, if you please, gentlemen,*^ 
said Edith, as she saw the small brothers safely 
off, and fell to work with Patty and the maid 
to arrange the dining-room to suit the feast 
about to be spread there. 

As antique furniture is the fashion now-a- 
days, it was easy to collect all the old tables, 
chairs, china, and ornaments in the house, and 
make a pleasant place of the sunny room where 
a tall clock always stood; and damask hangings 
a century old added much to the effect. A mas- 
sive mahogany table was set forth with ancient 
silver, glass, china, and all sorts of queer old 
salt-cellars, pepper-pots, pickel-dishes, knives, 
and spoons. Pligh-backed chairs stood round 
it, and the guests were received by a very pretty 
old lady in plum-colored satin, with a muslin 
pelerine, and a large lace cap most becoming to 
the rosy face it surrounded. A fat watch ticked 
in the wide belt, mitts covered the plump hands, 
and a reticule hung at the side. Madam's 
daughter, in a very short-waisted pink silk 
gown, muslin apron, and frill, was even prettier 


The Cooking- Class 277 

than her mother, for her dark, curly hair hung 
on her shoulders, and a little cap was stuck on 
the top, with long pink streamers. Her mitts 
went to the elbow, and a pink sash was tied in 
a large bow behind. Black satin shoes covered 
her feet, and a necklace of gold beads was round 
her throat. 

Great was the pleasure this little surprise gave 
the girls, and gay was the chatter that went on 
as they were welcomed by the hostesses, who 
constantly forgot their parts. Madam frisked 
now and then, and Pretty Peggy was so 
anxious about dinner that she was not as de- 
voted to her company as a well-bred young lady 
should be. But no one minded, and when the 
bell rang, all gathered about the table eager to 
see what the feast was to be. 

‘‘ Ladies, we have endeavored to give you a 
taste of some of the good old dishes rather out 
of fashion now,’^ said Madam, standing at her 
place, with a napkin pinned over the purple 
dress, and a twinkle in the blue eyes under the 
wide cap-frills. We thought it would be well 
to introduce some of them to the class and to 
our family cooks, who either scorn the plain 
dishes, or don’t know how to cook them well. 
There is a variety, and we hope all will find 
something to enjoy. Peggy, uncover, and let us 
begin.” 

At first the girls looked a little disappointed, 
for the dishes were not very new to them; but 


278 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

when they tasted a real ‘‘ boiled dinner/' and 
found how good it was ; also baked beans, neither 
hard, greasy, nor burnt; beefsteak, tender, juicy, 
and well flavored; potatoes, mealy in spite of 
the season ; Indian pudding, made as few modern 
cooks know how to do it; brown bread, with 
home-made butter ; and pumpkin pie that cut like 
wedges of vegetable gold, — they changed their 
minds, and began to eat with appetites that 
would have destroyed their reputations as deli- 
cate young ladies, if they had been seen. Tea 
in egg-shell cups, election-cake and cream-cheese 
with fruit ended the dinner; and as they sat ad- 
miring the tiny old spoons, the crisp cake, and 
the little cheeses like snow-balls, Edith said, in 
reply to various compliments paid her : — 

Let us give honor where honor is due. 
Patty suggested this, and did most of the cook- 
ing; so thank her, and borrow her receipt-book. 
It 's very funny, ever so old, copied and tried 
by her grandmother, and full of directions for 
making quantities of nice things, from pie like 
this to a safe, sure wash for the complexion. 
May-dew, rose-leaves, and lavender, — does n't 
that sound lovely?" 

“ Let me copy it," cried several girls afflicted 
with freckles, or sallow with too much coffee 
and confectionery. 

** Yes, indeed. But I was going to say, as 
we have no prize to-day, we have prepared a 
little souvenir of our old-fashioned dinner for 


The Cooking- Class 279 

each of you. Bring- them, daughter; I hope the 
ladies will pardon the homeliness of the offer- 
ing, and make use of the hint that accompanies 
each.'' 

As Edith spoke, with a comical mingling of 
the merry girl and the stately old lady she was 
trying to personate, Patty brought from the 
side-board, where it had stood covered up, a 
silver salver on which lay five dainty little loaves 
of bread; on the top of each appeared a receipt 
for making the same, nicely written on colored 
cards, and held in place by a silver scarf-pin. 

“ How cunning ! " “ What lovely pins ! " 

“ I 'll take the hint and learn to make good 
bread at once." It smells as sweet as a nut, 
and is n't hard or heavy a bit." Such a pretty 
idea, and so clever of you to carry it out so 
well." 

•. These remarks went on as the little loaves 
went round, each girl finding her pin well suited 
to her pet fancy or foible ; for all were different, 
and all very pretty, whether the design was a 
palette, a skate, a pen, a racquet, a fan, a feather, 
a bar of music, or a daisy. 

Seeing that her dinner was a success in spite 
of its homeliness, Edith added the last surprise, 
which had also been one to Patty and herself 
when it arrived, just in time to be carried out. 
She forgot to be Madam now, and said with a 
face full of mingled merriment and satisfaction, 
as she pushed her cap askew and pulled off her 
mitts : — 


2 8o Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Girls, the best joke of all is, that Rex and 
Alf sent the pins, and made Phil bring them 
with a most humble apology for their imperti- 
nence last week. A meeker boy I never saw, 
and for that we may thank Floy ; but I think the 
dinner Pat and I got the other day won Rex's 
heart, so that he made Alf eat humble pie in 
this agreeable manner. We won’t say anything 
about it, but all wear our pins and show the 
boys that we can forgive and forget as ‘ sweet 
girls ’ should, though we do cook and have 
ideas of our own beyond looking pretty and 
minding our older brothers.” 

We will!” cried the chorus with one voice, 
and Florence added: — 

I also propose that when we have learned to 
make something besides ‘ kickshaws,’ as the boys 
call our fancy dishes, we have a dinner like this, 
and invite those rascals to it ; which will be heap- 
ing coals of fire on their heads, and stopping 
their mouths forevermore from malting jokes 
about our cooking-class.” 


THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE 


T ramp, tramp, tramp! that was the boys 
going down stairs in a hurry. 

Bump, bump! that was the bicycle be- 
ing zigzagged through the hall. 

Bang! that was the front door slamming be- 
hind both boys and bicycle, leaving the house 
quiet for a time, though the sound of voices out- 
side suggested that a lively discussion was going 
on. 

The bicycle fever had reached Perryville, and 
raged all summer. Now the town was very like 
a once tranquil pool infested with the long- 
legged water bugs that go skating over its sur- 
face in all directions; for wheels of every kind 
darted to and fro, startling horses, running over 
small children, and pitching their riders head- 
long in ‘the liveliest manner. Men left their 
business to see the lads try new wheels, women 
grew skilful in the binding of wounds and the 
mending of sorely rent garments, gay girls 
begged for rides, standing on the little step be- 
hind, and boys clamored for bicycles that they 
might join the army of martyrs to the last craze. 
Sidney West was the proud possessor of the 


282 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

best wheel in town, and displayed his treasure 
with immense satisfaction before the admiring 
eyes of his mates. He had learned to ride in a 
city rink, and flattered himself that he knew all 
there was to learn, except those feats which only 
professional gymnasts acquire. He mounted 
with skilful agility, rode with as much grace as 
the tread-mill movements of the legs permit, and 
managed to guide his tall steed without much 
danger to himself or others. The occasional 
headers he took, and the bruises which kept his 
manly limbs in a chronic state of mourning he 
did not mention ; but concealed his stiffness 
heroically, and bound his younger brother to 
eternal silence by the bribe of occasional rides 
on the old wheel. 

Hugh was a loyal lad, and regarded his big 
brother as the most remarkable fellow in the 
world; so he forgave Sid’s domineering ways, 
was a willing slave, a devoted admirer, and a 
faithful imitator of all the masculine virtues, 
airs, and graces of this elder brother. On one 
point only did they disagree, and that was Sid’s 
refusal to give Hugh the old wheel when the 
new one came. Hugh had fondly hoped it 
would be his, hints to that effect having been 
dropped when Sid wanted an errand done, and 
for weeks the younger boy had waited and 
labored patiently, sure that his reward would be 
the small bicycle on which he could proudly take 
his place as a member of the newly formed club; 


The Hare and the Tortoise 283 

with them to set forth, in the blue uniform, with 
horns blowing, badges glittering, and legs flying, 
for a long spin, — to return after dark, a mys- 
terious line of tall shadows, ‘‘ with lanterns 
dimly burning,” and warning whistles sounding 
as they went. 

Great, therefore, was his disappointment and 
wrath when he discovered that Sid had agreed 
to sell the wheel to another fellow, if it suited 
him, leaving poor Hugh the only boy of his set 
without a machine. Much as he loved Sid, he 
could not forgive this underhand and mercenary 
transaction. It seemed so unbrotherly to requite 
such long and willing service, to dash such 
ardent hopes, to betray such blind confidence, for 
filthy lucre; and when the deed was done, to 
laugh, and ride gayly away on the splendid 
British Challenge, the desire of all hearts and 
eyes. 

This morning Hugh had freely vented his out- 
raged feelings, and Sid had tried to make light 
of the affair, though quite conscious that he had 
been both unkind and unfair. A bicycle tourna- 
ment was to take place in the city, twenty miles 
away, and the members of the club were going. 
Sid, wishing to distinguish himself, intended to 
ride thither, and was preparing for the long trip 
with great care. Hugh was wild to go, but hav- 
ing spent his pocket-money and been forbidden 
to borrow, he could not take the cars as the 
others had done; no horse was to be had, and 


284 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

their own stud consisted of an old donkey, who 
would have been hopeless even with the induce- 
ment offered in the immortal ditty, — 

“ If I had a donkey that would n’t go, 

Do you think I ’d whip him ? Oh, no, no ! 

I ’d take him to Jarley’s Wax-work Show.” 

Therefore poor Hugh was in a desperate state 
of mind as he sat on the gate-post watching Sid 
make his pet’s toilet, till every plated handle, 
rod, screw, and axle shone like silver. 

“ I know I could have ridden the Star if you 
had n’t let Joe have it. I do think it was right 
down mean of you; so does Aunt Ruth, and 
father too, — only he won’t say so, because men 
always stand by one another, and snub boys.” 

This was strong language for gentle Hugh, 
but he felt that he must vent his anguish in some 
way or cry like a girl; and that disgrace must 
be avoided, even if he failed in respect to his 
elders. 

Sid was whistling softly as he oiled and 
rubbed, but he was not feeling as easy as he 
looked, and heartily wished that he had not com- 
mitted himself to Joe, for it would have been 
pleasant to take “ the little chap,” as he called 
the fourteen-year-older, along with him, and do 
the honors of the rink on this great occasion. 
Now it was too late; so he affected a careless 
air, and added insult to injury by answering his 


The Hare and the Tortoise 285 

brother’s reproaches in the joking spirit which 
is peculiarly exasperating at such moments. 

“ Children should n’t play with matches, nor 
small boys with bicycles. I don’t want to com- 
mit murder, and I certainly should if I let you 
try to ride twenty miles when you can’t go one 
without nearly breaking your neck, or your 
knees,” and Sid glanced with a smile at the neat 
darns which ornamented his brother’s trousers 
over those portions of his long legs. 

“ How ’s a fellow going to learn if he is n’t 
allowed to try? Might as well tell me to keep 
away from the water till I can swim. You give 
me a chance and see if I can’t ride as well as 
some older fellows who have been pitched round 
pretty lively before they dared to try a twenty- 
mile spin,” answered Hugh, clapping both hands 
on his knees to hide the tell-tale darns. 

“ If Joe does n’t want it, you can use the old 
wheel till I decide what to do with it. I sup- 
pose a man has a right to sell his own property 
if he likes,” said Sid, rather nettled at the allu- 
sion to his own tribulations in times past. 

Of course he has ; but if he ’s promised to 
give a thing he ought to do it, and not sneak 
out of the bargain after he ’s got lots of work 
done to pay for it. That ’s what makes me mad ; 
for I believed you and depended on it, and it 
hurts me more to have you deceive me than it 
would to lose ten bicycles ; ” and Hugh choked 
a little at the thought, in spite of his attempt to 
look sternly indignant. 


2 86 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

** You are welcome to your opinion, but I 
would n’t cry about it. Play with chaps of your 
own size and don’t hanker after men’s property. 
Take the cars, if you want to go so much, and 
stop bothering me,” retorted Sid, getting cross 
because he was in the wrong and would n’t 
own it. 

You know I can’t! No money, and must n’t 
borrow. What ’s the use of twitting a fellow 
like that?” and Hugh with great difficulty re- 
frained from knocking off the new helmet-hat 
which was close to his foot as Sid bent to inspect 
the shining hub of the cherished wheel. 

“Take Sancho, then; you might arrive before 
the fun was all over, if you carried whips and 
pins and crackers enough to keep the old boy 
going; you ’d be a nice span.” 

This allusion to the useless donkey was cruel, 
but Hugh held on to the last remnant of his 
temper, and made a wild proposal in the despair 
of the moment. 

“ Don’t be a donkey yourself. See here, why 
can’t we ride and tie? I’ve tried this wheel, 
and got on tip-top. You ’d be along to see to 
me, and we ’d take turns. Do, Sid ! I want to 
go awfully, and if you only will I won’t say an- 
other word about Joe.” 

But Sid only burst out laughing at the plan, 
in the most heartless manner. 

“ No, thank you. I don’t mean to walk a 
step when I can ride; or lend my new wheel to 


The Hare and the Tortoise 287 

a chap who can hardly keep right side up on the 
old one. It looks like a jolly plan to you, I dare 
say, but I don’t see it, young man.” 

I hope I sha’n’t be a selfish brute when I ’m 
seventeen. I’ll have a bicycle yet, — A, No. i, 
— and then you ’ll see how I ’ll lend it, like a 
gentleman, and not insult other fellows because 
they happen to be two or three years younger.” 

“ Keep cool, my son, and . don’t call names. 
If you are such a smart lad, why don’t you walk, 
since wheels and horses and donkeys fail. It ’s 
only twenty miles — nothing to speak of, you 
know.” 

‘‘ Well, I could do it if I liked. I Ve walked 
eighteen, and was n’t half so tired as you were. 
Any one can get over the ground on a bicycle, 
but it takes strength and courage to keep it up 
on foot.” 

‘‘ Better try it.” 

‘‘ I will, some day.” 

“Don’t crow too loud, my little rooster; you 
are not cock of the walk yet.” 

“If I was, I wouldn’t hit a fellow when 
he’s down;” and fearing he should kick over 
the tall bicycle that stood so temptingly near 
him, Hugh walked away, trying to whistle, 
though his lips were more inclined to tremble 
than to pucker. 

“ Just bring my lunch, will you ? Auntie is 
putting it up; I must be off,” called Sid, so used 
to giving orders that he did so even at this un- 
propitious moment. 


288 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Get it yourself. I ’m not going to slave for 
you any longer, old tyrant,” growled Hugh; for 
the trodden worm turned at last, as worms will. 

This was open revolt, and Sid felt that things 
were in a bad way, but would not stop to mend 
them then. 

'' Whew! here’s a tempest in a teapot. Well, 
it is too bad ; but I can’t help it now. I ’ll make 
it all right to-morrow, and bring him round with 
a nice account of the fun. Hullo, Bemis! going 
to town?” he called, as a neighbor came spin- 
ning noiselessly by. 

Part way, and take the cars at Lawton. It ’s 
hard riding over the hills, and a bother to steer 
a wheel through the streets. Come on, if you ’re 
ready.” 

“ All right ; ” and springing up, Sid was off, 
forgetting all about the lunch. 

Hugh, dodging behind the lilac-bushes, heard 
what passed, and the moment they were gone 
ran to the gate to watch them out of sight with 
longing eyes, then turned away, listlessly won- 
dering how he should spend the holiday his 
brother was going to- enjoy so much. 

At that moment Aunt Ruth hurried to the 
door, waving the leathern pouch well stored with 
cake and sandwiches, cold coffee and pie. 

Sid ’s forgotten his bag. Run, call, stop 
him ! ” she cried, trotting down the walk with 
her cap-strings waving wildly in the fresh 
October wind. 


The Hare and the Tortoise 289 

For an instant Hugh hesitated, thinking sul- 
lenly, “ Serves him right. I won’t run after 
him ; ” then his kind heart got the better of his 
bad humor, and catching up the bag he raced 
down the road at his best pace, eager to heap 
coals of fire on Sid’s proud head, — to say 
nothing of his own desire to see more of the 
riders. 

“ They will have to go slowly up the long hill, 
and I ’ll catch them then,” he thought as he tore 
over the ground, for he was a good runner and 
prided himself on his strong legs. 

Unfortunately for his amiable intentions, the 
boys had taken a short cut to avoid the hill, and 
were out of sight down a lane where Hugh never 
dreamed they would dare to go, so mounted. 

‘‘ Well, they have done well to get over the 
hill at this rate. Guess they won’t keep it up 
long,” panted Hugh, stopping short when he 
saw no signs of the riders. 

The road stretched invitingly before him, the 
race had restored his spirits, and curiosity to see 
what had become of his friends lured him to the 
hill-top, where temptation sat waiting for him. 
Up he trudged, finding the fresh air, the sunny 
sky, the path strewn with red and yellow leaves, 
and the sense of freedom so pleasant that when 
he reached the highest point and saw the world 
all before him, as it were, a daring project 
seemed to flash upon him, nearly taking his 
breath away with its manifold delights. 


290 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

Sid said, ‘Walk/ and why not? — at least 
to Lawton, and take the cars from there, as 
Bemis means to do. Would n’t the old fellows 
be surprised to see me turn up at the rink ? It ’s 
quarter past eight now, and the fun begins at 
three; I could get there easy enough, and by 
Jupiter, I will! Got lunch all here, and money 
enough to pay this car-fare, I guess. If I 
have n’t, I ’ll go a little further and take a horse- 
car. What a lark I here goes,” — and with a 
whoop of boyish delight at breaking bounds, 
away went Hugh down the long hill, like a colt 
escaped from its pasture. 

The others were just ahead, but the windings 
of the road hid them from him; so all went on, 
unconscious of each other’s proximity. Hugh’s 
run gave him a good start, and he got over the 
ground famously for five or six miles; then he 
went more slowly, thinking he had plenty of 
time to catch a certain train. But he had no 
watch, and when he reached Lawton he had the 
pleasure of seeing the cars go out at one end of 
the station as he hurried in at the other. 

“ I won’t give it up, but just go on and do 
it afoot. That will be something to brag of 
when the other chaps tell big stories. I ’ll see 
how fast I can go, for I ’m not tired, and can eat 
on the way. Much obliged to Sid for a nice 
lunch.” ■ 

And chuckling over this piece of good luck, 
Hugh set out again, only pausing for a good 


The Hare and the Tortoise 291 

drink at the town-pump. The thirteen miles 
did not seem very long when he thought of 
them, but as he walked them they appeared to 
grow longer and longer, till he felt as if he must 
have travelled about fifty. He was in good 
practice, and fortunately had on easy shoes; but 
he was in such a hurry to make good time that 
he allowed himself no rest, and jogged on, up 
hill and down, with the resolute air of one walk- 
ing for a wager. There we will leave him, and 
see what had befallen Sid; for his adventures 
were more exciting than Hugh’s, though all 
seemed plain sailing when he started. 

At Lawton he had parted from his friend and 
gone on alone, having laid in a store of ginger- 
bread from a baker’s cart, and paused to eat, 
drink, and rest by a wayside brook. A few 
miles further he passed a party of girls playing 
lawn tennis, and as he slowly rolled along re- 
garding them from his lofty perch, one suddenly 
exclaimed : — 

Why, it’s our neighbor, Sidney West! 
How did he come here?” and waving her rac- 
quet, Alice ran across the lawn to find out. 

Very willing to stop and display his new uni- 
form, which was extremely becoming, Sid dis- 
mounted, doffed his helmet, and smiled upon 
the damsels, leaning over the hedge like a knight 
of old. 

“ Come in and play a game, and have some 
lunch. You will have plenty of time, and some 


292 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

of US are going to the rink by and by. Do, we 
want a boy to help us, for Maurice is too lazy, 
and Jack has hurt his hand with that stupid base 
ball,’' said Alice, beckoning persuasively, while 
the other girls nodded and smiled hopefully. 

Thus allured, the youthful Ulysses hearkened 
to the voice of the little Circe in a round hat, 
and entered the enchanted grove, to forget the 
passage of time as he disported himself among 
the nymphs. He was not changed to a beast, as 
in the immortal story, though the three young 
gentlemen did lie about the lawn in somewhat 
grovelling attitudes; and Alice waved her rac- 
quet as if it were a wand, while her friends 
handed glasses of lemonade to the recumbent 
heroes during pauses in the game. 

While thus blissfully engaged, time slipped 
away, and Hugh passed him in the race, quite 
unconscious that his brother was reposing in 
the tent that looked so inviting as the dusty, 
tired boy plodded by, counting every mile-stone 
with increasing satisfaction. 

If I get to Uncle Tim’s by one o’clock, I 
shall have done very well. Four miles an hour 
is a fair pace, and only one stop. I ’ll telegraph 
to auntie as soon as I arrive; but she won’t 
worry, she ’s used to having us turn up all right 
when we get ready,” thought Hugh, grateful 
that no over-anxious mamma was fretting about 
his long absence. The boys had no mother, and 
Aunt Ruth was an easy old lady who let them 
do as they liked, to their great contentment. 


The Hare and the Tortoise 293 

As he neared his journey’s end our traveller’s 
spirits rose, and the blisters on his heels were 
forgotten in the dramatic scene his fancy 
painted, when Sid should discover him at Uncle 
Tim’s, or calmly seated at the rink. Whistling 
gayly, he was passing through a wooded bit of 
road when the sound of voices made him look 
back to see a carriage full of girls approaching, 
escorted by a bicycle rider, whose long blue legs 
looked strangely familiar. 

Anxious to keep his secret till the last moment, 
also conscious that he was not in company trim, 
Hugh dived into the wood, out of sight, while 
the gay party went by, returning to the road as 
soon as they were hidden by a bend. 

If Sid had n’t been so mean, I should have 
been with him, and had some of the fun. I don’t 
feel like forgiving him in a hurry for making 
me foot it, like a tramp, while he is having such 
a splendid time.” 

If Hugh could have known what was to hap- 
pen very soon after he had muttered these words 
to himself, as he wiped his hot face, and took 
the last sip of the coffee to quench his thirst, he 
would have been sorry he uttered them, and 
have forgiven his brother everything. 

While he was slowly toiling up the last long 
hill, Sid was coasting down on the other side, 
eager to display his courage and skill before the 
girls, — being of an age when boys begin to 
wish to please and astonish the gentler creatures 


2 94 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

whom they have hitherto treated with indiffer- 
ence or contempt. It was a foolish thing to do, 
for the road was rough, with steep banks on 
either side, and a sharp turn at the end; but Sid 
rolled gayly along, with an occasional bump, till 
a snake ran across the road, making the horse 
shy, the girls scream, the rider turn to see what 
was the matter, and in doing so lose his balance 
just when a large stone needed to be avoided. 
Over went Sid, down rattled the wheel, up rose 
a cloud of dust, and sudden silence fell upon the 
girls at sight of this disaster. They expected 
their gallant escort would spring up and laugh 
over his accident; but when he remained flat 
upon his back, where he had alighted after a 
somersault, with the bicycle spread over him like 
a pall, they were alarmed, and flew to the rescue. 

A cut on the forehead was bleeding, and the 
blow had evidently stunned him for a moment. 
Luckily, a house was near, and a man seeing 
the accident hastened to offer more efficient help 
than any the girls had wit enough to give in the 
first flurry, as all four only flapped wildly at 
Sid with their handkerchiefs, and exclaimed ex- 
citedly : — 

‘‘What shall we do? Is he dead? Run for 
water. Call somebody, quick.’^ 

“Don’t be scat, gals; it takes a sight of 
thumpin’ to break a boy’s head. He ain’t hurt 
much ; kinder dazed for a minute. I ’ll hist up 
this pesky 7nashme and set him on his legs, if he 
hain’t damaged ’em.” 


The Hare and the Tortoise 295 

With these cheering words, the farmer cleared 
away the ruins, and propped the fallen rider 
against a tree; which treatment had such a good 
effect that Sid was himself in a moment, and 
much disgusted to find what a scrape he was in. 

“ This is nothing, a mere bump ; quite right, 
thanks. Let us go on at once; so sorry to alarm 
you, ladies.” He began his polite speech bravely, 
but ended with a feeble smile and a clutch at the 
tree, suddenly turning sick and dizzy again. 

“ You come along a me. I ’ll tinker you and 
your whirligig up, young man. No use sayin’ 
go ahead, for the thing is broke, and you want 
to keep quiet for a spell. Drive along, gals, I ’ll 
see to him ; and my old woman can nuss him 
better ’n a dozen flutterin’ young things scat half 
to death.” 

Taking matters into his own hands, the 
farmer had boy and bicycle under his roof in 
five minutes; and with vain offers of help, many 
regrets, and promises to let his Uncle Tim know 
where he was, in case he did not arrive, the girls 
reluctantly drove away, leaving no sign of the 
catastrophe except the trampled road, and a dead 
snake. 

Peace was hardly restored when Hugh came 
down the hill, little dreaming what had hap- 
pened, and for the second time passed his 
brother, who just then was lying on a sofa in 
the farm-house, while a kind old woman adorned 
his brow with a large black plaster, suggesting 


296 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

brown paper steeped in vinegar, for the various 
bruises on his arms and legs. 

“ Some one killed the snake and made a great 
fuss about it, I should say,” thought Hugh, ob- 
serving the signs of disorder in the dust; but, 
resisting a boy’s interest in such affairs, he 
stoutly tramped on, sniffng the whiffs of sea air 
that now and then saluted his nose, telling him 
that he was nearing his much-desired goal. 

Presently the spires of the city came in sight, 
to his great satisfaction, and only the long 
bridge and a street or two lay between him and 
Uncle Tim’s easy chair, into which he soon 
hoped to cast himself. 

Half-way across the bridge a farm- wagon 
passed, with a bicycle laid carefully on the bar- 
rels of vegetables going to market. Hugh gazed 
affectionately at it, longing to borrow it for one 
brief, delicious spin to the bridge end. Had he 
known that it was Sid’s broken wheel, going 
to be repaired without loss of time, thanks to 
the good farmer’s trip to town, he would have 
paused to have a hearty laugh, in spite of his 
vow not to stop till his journey was over. 

Just as Hugh turned into the side street where 
Uncle Tim lived, a horse-car went by, in one 
corner of which sat a pale youth, with a battered 
hat drawn low over his eyes, who handed out 
his ticket with the left hand, and frowned when 
the car jolted, as if the jar hurt him. Had he 
looked out of the window, he would have seen 


The Hare and the Tortoise 297 

a very dusty boy, with a pouch over his shoul- 
der, walking- smartly down the street where his 
relation lived. But Sid carefully turned his head 
aside, fearing to be recognized; for he was on 
his way to a certain club to which Bemis be- 
longed, preferring his sympathy and hospitality 
to the humiliation of having his mishap told at 
home by Uncle Tim, who would be sure to take 
Hugh’s part, and exult over the downfall of the 
proud. Well for him that he avoided that com- 
fortable mansion; for on the door-steps stood 
Hugh, beaming with satisfaction as the clock 
struck one, proclaiming that he had done his 
twenty miles in a little less than five hours. 

“ Not bad for a ‘ little chap,’ even though he 
is ‘ a donkey,’ ” chuckled the boy, dusting his 
shoes, wiping his red face, and touching himself 
up as well as he could, in order to present as 
fresh and unwearied an aspect as possible, when 
he burst upon his astonished brother’s sight. 

In he marched when the door opened, to find 
his uncle and two rosy cousins just sitting down 
to dinner. Always glad to see the lads, they 
gave him a cordial welcome, and asked for his 
brother. 

Has n’t he come yet?” cried Hugh, sur- 
prised, yet glad to be the first on the field. 

Nothing had been seen of him, and Hugh at 
once told his tale, to the great delight of his jolly 
uncle, and the admiring wonder of Meg and 
May, the rosy young cousins. They all enjoyed 


2g8 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

the exploit immensely, and at once insisted that 
the pedestrian should be refreshed by a bath, a 
copious meal, and a good rest in the big chair, 
where he repeated his story by particular request. 

“ You deserve a bicycle, and you shall have 
one, as sure as my name is Timothy West. I 
like pluck and perseverance, and you ’ve got 
both; so come on, my boy, and name the wheel 
you like best. Sid needs a little taking down, 
as you lads say, and this will give it to him, I 
fancy. I ’m a younger brother myself, and I 
know what their trials are.’^ 

As his uncle made these agreeable remarks, 
Hugh looked as if his trials were all over; for 
his face shone with soap and satisfaction, his 
hunger was quenched by a splendid dinner, his 
tired feet luxuriated in a pair of vast slippers, 
and the blissful certainty of owning a first-class 
bicycle filled his cup to overflowing. Words 
could hardly express his gratitude, and nothing 
but the hope of meeting Sid with this glorious 
news would have torn him from the reposeful 
Paradise where he longed to linger. Pluck and 
perseverance, with cold cream on the blistered 
heels, got him' into his shoes again, and he rode 
away in a horse-car, as in a triumphal chariot, to 
find his brother. 

“ I won’t brag, but I do feel immensely tickled 
at this day’s work. Wonder how he got on. 
Did it in two or three hours, I suppose, and is 
parading round with those swell club fellows at 


The Hare and the Tortoise 299 

the rink. I ’ll slip in and let him find me, as if 
I was n’t a bit proud of what I ’ve done, and 
did n’t care two pins for anybody’s praise.” 

With this plan in his head, Hugh enjoyed the 
afternoon very much; keeping a sharp lookout 
for Sid, even while astonishing feats were being 
performed before his admiring eyes. But no- 
where did he see his brother; for he was search- 
ing for a blue uniform and a helmet with a cer- 
tain badge on it, while Sid in a borrowed hat 
and coat sat in a corner looking on, whenever 
a splitting headache and the pain in his bones 
allowed him to see and enjoy the exploits in 
which he had hoped to join. 

Not until it was over did the brothers meet, 
as they went out, and then the expression on 
Sid’s face was so comical that Hugh laughed 
till the crowd about them stared, wondering 
what the joke could be. 

‘‘ How in the world did you get here ? ” asked 
the elder boy, giving his hat a sudden pull to 
hide the plaster. 

“ Walked, as you advised me to.” 

Words cannot express the pleasure that an- 
swer gave Hugh, or the exultation he vainly 
tried to repress, as his eyes twinkled and a grin 
of real boyish fun shone upon his sunburnt coun- 
tenance. 

You expect me to believe that, do you? 

‘‘Just as you please. I started to catch you 
with your bag, and when I missed you, thought 


300 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

I might as well keep on. Got in about one, had 
dinner at uncle’s, and been enjoying these high 
jinks ever since.” 

“ Very well, for a beginning. Keep it up and 
you ’ll be a Rowell by and by. What do you 
suppose father will say to you, small boy ? ” 

“ Not much. Uncle will make that all right. 
He thought it was a plucky thing to do, and so 
did the girls. When did you get in ? ” asked 
Hugh, rather nettled at Sid’s want of enthusi- 
asm, though it was evident he was much im- 
pressed by the small boy’s ” prank. 

I took it easy after Bemis left me. Had 
a game of tennis at the Blanchards’ as I came 
along, dinner at the club, and strolled up here 
with the fellows. Got a headache, and don’t 
feel up to much.” 

As Sid spoke and Hugh’s keen eye took in the 
various signs of distress which betrayed a hint 
of the truth, the grin changed to a hearty Ha ! 
ha ! ” as he smote his knees exclaiming gleefully, 
“You’ve come to grief! I know it, I see it. 
Own up, and don’t shirk, for I ’ll find it out 
somehow, as sure as you live.” 

“ Don’t make such a row in the street. Get 
aboard this car and I ’ll tell you, for you ’ll give 
me no peace till I do,” answered Sid, well know- 
ing that Alice would never keep the secret. 

To say that it was “ nuts ” to Hugh faintly 
expresses the interest he took in the story which 
was extracted bit by bit from the reluctant suf- 


The Hare and the Tortoise 301 

ferer; but after a very pardonable crow over 
the mishaps of his oppressor, he yielded to the 
sympathy he felt for his brother, and was very 
good to him. 

This touched Sid, and filled him with remorse 
for past unkindness; for one sees one’s faults 
very plainly, and is not ashamed to own it, when 
one is walking through the Valley of Humilia- 
tion. 

Look here, I ’ll tell you what I ’ll do,” he 
said, as they left the car, and Hugh offered an 
arm, with a friendly air pleasant to see. ‘‘ I ’ll 
give you the old wheel, and let Joe get another 
where he can. It ’s small for him, and I doubt 
if he wants it, any way. I do think you were 
a plucky fellow to tramp your twenty miles in 
good time, and not bear malice either, so let’s 
say ‘ Done,’ and forgive and forget.” 

“ Much obliged, but uncle is going to give 
me a new one; so Joe needn’t be disappointed. 
I know how hard that is, and am glad to keep 
him from it, for he ’s poor and can’t afford a 
new one.” 

That answer was Hugh’s only revenge for his 
own trials, and Sid felt it, though he merely 
said, with a hearty slap on the shoulder, — 

“ Glad to hear it. Uncle is a trump, and so 
are you. We ’ll take the last train home, and 
I ’ll pay your fare.” 

Thank you. Poor old man, you did get a 
bump, didn’t you?” exclaimed Hugh, as they 


302 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

took off their hats in the hall, and the patch ap- 
peared in all its gloomy length and breadth. 

‘‘ Head will be all right in a day or two, but 
I stove in my helmet, and ground a hole in both 
knees of my new shorts. Had to borrow a fit- 
out of Bemis, and leave my rags behind. We 
needn’t mention any more than is necessary to 
the girls; I hate to be fussed over,” answered 
Sid, trying to speak carelessly. 

Hugh had to stop and have another laugh, 
remembering the taunts his own mishaps had 
called forth; but he did not retaliate, and Sid 
never forgot it. Their stay was a short one, and 
Hugh was the hero of the hour, quite eclipsing 
his brother, who usually took the first place, but 
now very meekly played second^fiddle, conscious 
that he was not an imposing figure, in a coat 
much too big for him, with a patch on his fore- 
head, a purple bruise on one cheek, and a gen- 
eral air of dilapidation very trying to the usu- 
ally spruce youth. 

When they left. Uncle Tim patted Hugh on 
the head, — a liberty the boy would have re- 
sented if the delightful old gentleman had not 
followed it up by saying, with a reckless gen- 
erosity worthy of record, — 

“ Choose your bicycle, my boy, and send the 
bill to me.” Then turning to Sid he added, in 
a tone that made the pale face redden suddenly, 
“ And do you remember that the tortoise beat 
the hare in the old fable we all know.” 


The Hare and the Tortoise 303 

That is the last of the stories, for our holi- 
day is over, and to-morrow we must go home. 
We have had a splendid time, and thank you 
and aunties so much, dear grandma,’’ said Min, 
expressing, the feeling of all the children, as they 
stood about the fire when the bicycle tale ended. 

“ I ’m so glad, my darlings, and please God 
we ’ll all meet here again next year, well and 
happy and ready for more fun,” answered the 
old lady, with arms and lap full of loving little 
people. 

‘‘ Auntie deserves a vote of thanks, and I rise 
to propose it,” said Geoff; and it was passed 
with great applause. 

Many thanks. If the odds and ends in my 
portfolio have given you pleasure or done you 
any good, my fondest wishes are gratified,” an- 
swered Aunt Elinor, laughing, yet well pleased. 

I tucked a moral in, as we hide pills in jelly, 
and I hope you did n’t find them hard to swal- 
low.” 

Very easy and nice. I intend to look after 
little things faithfully, and tell the girls how to 
make their jerseys fit,” said Min. 

I ’m going to fill my jewel-box as Daisy did, 
and learn to cook,” added Lotty. 

Eli is the boy for me, and I won’t forget to 
be kind to my small chap,” said Walt, stroking 
his younger brother’s head with unusual kind- 
ness. 

Well, I ’m rather mixed in my heroes, but 


304 Spinning-Wheel Stories 

I 'll take the best of Corny, Onawandah, and the 
banner fellow for my share," cried Geoff. 

The little people proclaimed their favorites; 
but as all spoke together, only a comical mix- 
ture of doves, bears, babies, table-cloths and 
blue hose reached the ear. Then came the good- 
night kisses, the patter of departing feet, and 
silence fell upon the room. The little wheel was 
still, the chairs stood empty, the old portraits 
looked sadly down, the fire died out, and the 
Spinning-Wheel Stories were done. 


THE END. 




it 

> 
























The Little Women Series 

By LOUISA M. ALCOTT 


1. LITTLE WOMEN ; or Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy 

Illustrated. i6mo. $1.50. 

A simple story of the home life of four girls. A portrayal of child life, natural, whole- 
some, and inspiring. One of the best and most popular children’s books ever written. 

2. LITTLE MEN: Life at Plumfield with Jo’s Boys 

Illustrated. i6mo. $1.50. 

Gives delightful pictures of boy life at old Plumfield, and is brimful of activity, merriment, 
health, and happiness. 

3. JO’S BOYS, and How They Turned Out 

Illustrated. i6mo. $1.50. 

This sequel to “ Little Men ” takes up the story and carries Jo’s boys through the home 
struggles and adventures in the outside world until they are fairly launched on the sea of 
manhood. 

4. AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL 

Illustrated. i6mo. $1.50. 

The heroine of this book is shown as a possible improvement upon the girl of the period, 
who seems sadly ignorant or ashamed oi the good old fashions whicli made women truly 
beautiful and honored. 

5. EIGHT COUSINS; or, the Aunt-Hill 

Illustrated. i6mo. $1.50. 

The story of a pretty-faced and sunny-tempered little girl, obliged by the death of her 
parents to live with her uncle and her aunts, thereby coming in contact with seven cousins 
— ail boys. 

6. ROSE IN BLOOM 

Illustrated. i6mo. I1.50. 

This sequel to “ Eight Cousins” carries on the story of Rose and the cousins, and is full of 
vivacity, fresh and stirring incident, and brilliant character painting. 

7. UNDER THE LILACS 

Illustrated. i6mo. $1.50. 

Ben and his dog Sancho run away from a circus and find a home with Bob and Betty in 
the old house under the lilacs. Told in Miss Alcott’s best style. 

8. JACK AND JILL 

Illustrated. i6mo. $1.50. 

A vivid yet natural portrayal of home and school life in a New England village, full of the 
sympathetic quality which lends such a charm to Miss Alcott’s writings. It is a lively and 
jolly narrative. 

THE ABOVE EIGHT VOLUMES, UNIFORMLY BOUND, IN BOX, $12.00 

Uniform with '^The Little Women Series.” 

COMIC TRAGEDIES 

Written by “ Jo ” and “ Meg,” and acted by the “ Little Women,” with a Foreword by 
” Meg.” Portraits, etc. i6nio. ^1.50. 

LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 

Her Life, Letters, and Journals. Edited by Ednah D. Cheney. With photogravure 
portraits, etc. i6mo. ;^i.so. 


Other Stories by LOUISA M. ALCOTT 


SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES 

Four volumes of healthy and hearty short stories so told as to fascinate the young 
people, while inculcating sturdy courage and kindness to the weak in the boys, and 
m the girls those virtues which fit them for filling a woman’s place in the home. 

1. SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES 

With twelve initial illustrations. i6mo. j5i.2S. 

2. SILVER PITCHERS: and Independence 

i6mo. $1.25. 

3. PROVERB STORIES 

i6mo. $1.25. 

4. A GARLAND FOR GIRLS 

With illustrations. i6mo. $1.25. 

The above four volumes, uniformly bound in cloth, gilt, iu box, $5.00. 

AUNT JO’S SCRAP BAG 

Six books of jolly, readable stories told in Miss Alcott’s best style and sure to 
please young people, 

1. MY BOYS 

Illustrated. i6mo. ^i.oo. 

2. SHAWL-STRAPS 

Illustrated. Story of a voyage abroad. i6mo. $1.00 

3. CUPID AND CHOW-CHOW 

Illustrated. i6mo. 

4. MY GIRLS 

Illustrated. i6mo. ^x.oo. 

5. JIMMY’S CRUISE IN THE PINAFORE, ETC. 

Illustrated. i6mo. $1.00. 1 

6. AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING 

Illustrated. i6mo. $ 1 . 00 . 

The above six volumes, uniformly bound in cloth, gilt, in box, $6.00. 

LULU’S LIBRARY 

Delightful short stories, many of them founded on incidents from Miss Alcott’s 
life. Told so as to attract children, and all showing the spirit of cheerful accom- 
plishment in the face of discouragements. 

Three volumes. Each, $1.00. The set, uniformly bound in cloth, gilt, in box, $3.00. 

MISS ALCOTT’S NOVELS 

HOSPITAL SKETCHES 

and Camp and Fireside Stories. With illustrations. i6mo. $1.50. 

WORK 

A Story of Experience. Illustrated by Sol Eytinge. i6mo. ^1.50. 

MOODS 

A Novel. i6mo. $1.50. 

A MODERN MEPHISTOPHELES 

and a Whisper in the Dark. i6mo. {$1.50. 


New Illustrated Editions of 
Miss Alcott’s Famous Stories 


THE LITTLE WOMEN SERIES 

By Louisa M. Alcott. Illustrated Edition. With eighty-four 
full-page plates from drawings especially made for this edition by 
Reginald B. Birch, Alice Barber Stephens, Jessie Willcox Smith, 
and Harriet Roosevelt Richards. Svols. Crown 8vo. Decorated 
cloth, gilt, in box, $16.00. 

Separately as follows: 

1. LITTLE MEN : Life at Plumfield with Jo’s Boys 

With 15 full-page illustrations by Reginald B. Birch. $2.00. 

2. LITTLE WOMEN : or Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy 

With 15 full-page illustrations by Alice Barber Stephens. $2.00. 

3. AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL 

With 12 full-page pictures by Jessie Willcox Smith. $2.00. 

4. JO’S BOYS, and How They Turned Out 

A Sequel to “ Little Men.” With 10 full-page plates by Ellen Wetherald 
Ahrens. $2.00. 

5. EIGHT COUSINS ; or, the Aunt-Hill 

With 8 full-page pictures by Harriet Roosevelt Richards. 

6. ROSE IN BLOOM 

A Sequel to “Eight Cousins.” With 8 full-page pictures by Harriet 
Roosevelt Richards. $2.00. 

7. UNDER THE LILACS 

With 8 original full-page pictures by Alice Barber Stephens. $2.00. 

8. JACK AND JILL 

With 8 full-page pictures from drawings by Harriet Roosevelt Richards. 
$2.00. 

The artists selected to illustrate have caught the spirit ef the originals and contributed a 
series of strikingly beautiful and faithful pictures of the author’s characters and scenes. — 
Boston Herald. 

Alice Barber Stephens, who is very near the head of American illustrators, has shown 
wonderful ability in delineating the characters and costumes for “ Little Women.’’ They are 
almost startlingly realistic. — W orcester Spy. 

Miss Alcott’s books have never before had such an attractive typographical dress as the 
present. They are printed in large type on heavy paper, artistically bound, and illustrated 
with many full-page drawings. — PhUadelphia Press. 


LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY 

Publishers, 154 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON, MASS, 


New Illustrated Edition of 
The Spinning-Wheel Series 


THE SPINNING-WHEEL SERIES 

By Louisa M. Alcott. New Illustrated Edition, Uniform in 
size with the Illustrated Edition of The Little Women Series, 
printed from entirely new plates, with new and attractive cover 
design. 4vols. i2mo. Decorated cloth, in box, $6.00. j Separately, 
$1.50. 

1. SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES 

With 8 full-page pictures and vignette on titlepage by Wm. A. 
McCullough. $1.50. 

2. SILVER PITCHERS 

With 8 full-page pictures and vignette on titlepage by J. W. F. Kennedy. 
$1.50. 

3. PROVERB STORIES 

With 8 full-page pictures and vignette on titlepage by Ethel Pennewill 
Brown. $1.50. 

4. A GARLAND FOR GIRLS 

With 12 full-page pictures and vignette on titlepage by Clara E. 
Atwood and other artists. $1.50. 

F our volumes of healthy and hearty stories so told as to 
fascinate the young people, while inculcating sturdy courage 
and kindness to the weak in the boys, and in the girls those virtues 
which fit them for filling a woman’s place in the home. The several 
artists have caught the spirit of the author and have provided capital 
illustrations for these new editions. 

It is not rash to say that Miss Alcott’ s stories were never more 
appealing to young readers than at the present moment. In spite 
of a profusion of juvenile fiction, they have steadily held their own ; 
and they persistently refuse, through their inherent merits, to be 
elbowed aside by pretentious modern stories of unnatural and unreal 
childhood life. The very genuineness of character and incident, 
the homely appeal to all that is best in young womanhood and 
young manhood, have made Little Men,” “Little Women,” 
and their successors classics in their kind. — Boston Transcript. 


LITTLE, BROWN, ©> COMPANY 

Publishers, 254 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON, MASS. 







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